The Chimera
by Caisele
Summary: Edward is called to defend his kingdom against the Volturi warmongers. In battle, he encounters a fearsome and beautiful creature that may claim his life, or his heart… Slash. Edward/Jasper. AU.
1. Red Herring

**The Chimera**

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This is my first time writing a serious Twilight fic. This story is AU and the characters are fairly OOC. Obviously, M-rated and slashy – proceed with caution!

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 **One: Red Herring**

The Volturi have berserkers.

It takes a cruel and unusual kind of magic to raise such monsters. They are so fierce and beastly in their bloodlust that they can be heard and seen even from the very back of the enemy lines. Dark spells turn these men against nature, erasing their humanity, rendering them unrestrained, with no control over their rage. Their eyes glow red, their jaws unhinge, they rise in stature and frame until they rival the size of a full-grown grizzly, then they charge. Caius keeps one close to his person, as a guard. Edward's men named him the Chimera, because all they see is a wild blonde mane, then there's nothing but blood, screaming, and the sound of bones being torn through skin.

The endeavour to drive the Volturi back to their land would have ended months ago if Edward's men didn't balk at the cry that turns their blood cold. "The Chimera! It's here, it's here!"

Edward has never seen the Chimera, but he heard his men whisper the rumors passed on from Emmett's camp. It has a roar like thunder, black fangs that tear through flesh like knives, breathes acid smoke that bursts into flames, and stands twice as tall as any man. Six months into the campaign, Edward still remains skeptical.

"Tell your men to keep their stories to themselves, Emmett," he tells his brother peevishly. "It's bad for morale."

Emmett grimaces. "They can't help it. The Chimera is a nightmarish thing. I've seen it from afar. It looked like a hurricane laying waste to everything in his path."

"Did he breathe fire?" Edward asks sardonically.

"It could have been," Emmet answers seriously, "although I think the red I saw was from the spray of blood. All I know is we found a body of one of my men with his face ripped clean off the skull."

Edward scowls. "Well we can't get close to Caius with that berserker growling next to him."

"And you can't beat the Chimera," Emmett sighs. "My men will tell you I've tried. I'm hoping it'll wear out soon. These berserkers don't survive for long. The magic takes a toll, I imagine, shreds them from the inside. But if you could be rid of it and capture Caius, father will make you heir. They're already calling you the Great Defender."

Edward has many names. The people affectionately call him the Princeling because he is the younger son of King Carlisle, and his elder brother Emmett has long outgrown pet names. In the capital they call him Edward the Good, because he has compassion for the least of them. Here in the borderlands they tout him as Edward the Conqueror, but the closest he has been to a battle is in the tent behind the lines. He wages wars on his sprawling leather maps with little wooden armies.

And that is where he stands now, bending over stretched leathers, examining the crisscrossing lines. He twirls a rough wooden block, carved into the shape of an archer, between his long fingers. His dark brows are furrowed in thought; long slender neck arched, and emerald irises flickering in the lamp light. His bronze hair is cropped unfashionably short in the style of military men. It's his attempt to deter sniggering soldiers in the camp from calling him Edward the Handsome. But the hair does nothing to take away from his sculpted jaws, chiselled cheeks, straight nose, or full lips. Edward takes after the king in his youth, with a face like a demi-god's.

Emmett sits on the other side of the long table, weighed down in his full armour, and his metal-clad hands folded over the hilt of his broadsword. His tough, commanding bearing is only slightly diminished by his deep dimples and the soft unmanly curls upon his head. Edward, unlike his brother, isn't a soldier, and wears no armour. Instead he is donned in his riding clothes – thick breeches, boots, and a soft tunic, tied in the front. His cloak is unclasped and draped over his shoulders. He succumbed to fatigue earlier in the day and slept with it wrapped around him in his little camp cot. Emmett woke him a few hours ago, as the night fell. They are waiting for their scouts to return from the Volturi camp, whose torch lights flicker on the other side of the riverbank.

Outside the tent, the men are nervous; sweating in their armours, their tense faces painted white under the moonlight. For farmers, a greedy neighbour meant missing sheep and lines of borderlining stones that moved in the middle of the night. For Kings, a greedy neighbour meant smoke rising from ransacked villages, and unfriendly troops snaking through the valleys. And the Volturi are certainly very greedy neighbours. It's been a hard campaign, with heavy losses on account of the Chimera. They are holding out for the swift end to dispute that Prince Edward promised them. Upon his battle plans, drawn and formed over his many maps, rides all of their hopes.

"They're back!" Came the shout, and a flurry of movement ensues, hushed voices are raised and armours clink in a chorus.

The scout burst through the tent flap, caked in mud and silt from wading through the marshes along the riverbank. "Your Grace, and Your Grace."

Emmett jumps to his feet, clanging as he goes. "What news?"

"Caius broke camp," the scout reports, "just as Prince Edward foresaw. Two parties have already begun to retreat through the valley."

"Where is Caius?" Edward asks quietly.

"There was no sign of his banner, Your Grace," the scout says, "but the Chimera is still chained at the camp."

Edward places the wooden archer onto the map. "We should give chase. Caius must be expecting to lose us in the valley."

Emmett turns to look at him. "If his berserker is at the camp then Caius must be there still. The retreat is a ruse. He could set up an ambush in the mountain paths."

Edward frowns down at his map. "Caius is a cautious man. If he plans to retreat he would be the first one riding out of the camp. And we won't have to follow them into the mountains. If we flank him here…" he points.

Emmett shakes his head. "Trust me, brother. Caius is inseparable from his berserker. It was that way when they first entered our borders thirteen months ago, it was that way when you joined us in the valley, and it will be that way still."

Edward has misgivings, but Emmett is bull-headed when he thinks he's right, and it's nearly impossible to convince him otherwise. Plus, they didn't have enough men to advance on the enemy camp and give chase at the same time. If the berserker is across the river still, Edward wants all his men there, to ensure Emmett's safety if nothing else. "Surround the camp, then, and cut off the retreat," he says finally. "I will join you at your signal. Here."

Edward picks up a talisman from the corner of the table. He dabbles in magic in his free time, and follows the court sorcerers through their towers like their shadow. He made this one himself, as to not be completely defenceless. Luckily, he hasn't had the opportunity to use it thus far. It is a talisman for strength, carved onto a hollowed tiger fang, filled with the blood of a wild long haired bull, and sealed with blue glowing runes. He threads it through a thin leather thong and holds it out to Emmett. "Keep it on your neck," he says, and at Emmett's doubtful look adds, "in case you lose your sword."

Emmett takes it and ties it impatiently around his neck. He leaves in a rush, eyes gleaming with excitement. He may be the elder prince, but he has not had enough of the glory and fame that comes with the battle. For this reason, King Carlisle has hinted that he intends to make Edward heir to the throne. He prefers a level-headed strategist under the crown, not a bright-eyed boy in a man's body, playing soldier without regards for his life.

But Edward doesn't want the throne. He wants to be left alone with his books and his magic. He has no desire to bear the weight of the royal circlet or the responsibilities of a king.

Edward thinks he can find a way to convince his father to pass the sceptre to Emmett, but for that to happen, he needs to ensure Emmett will remain alive for the foreseeable future. His joining of the campaign against the Volturi is mostly an effort to keep an eye on Emmett. His brother is as reckless as he is brave, and oftentimes that, coupled with a bit of bad luck, can find a man with his face ripped from his skull.

Outside, two red flares burst in the night sky. Edward blows out his lamp and heads outside. He mounts his horse with two of his bannermen, and they circle around the bend of the river, to the shallows, and crosses onto the other side. A gaggle of wide-eyed soldiers greet him.

"The Chimera is caught, Your Grace," they exclaim, as if they are in disbelief.

"Where is my brother?" Edward asks.

"By its cage, Your Grace. The Chimera, Your Grace. He caught it, Your Grace."

Edward has no time for or interest in the berserker. "What about Caius?" he demands.

"Gone," the soldiers answer.

Edward groans under his breath. He knew he was right. Caius probably snuck out of camp at the first sign of darkness. He left the berserker behind as a red herring. Of course Emmett would fall for a trick like that.

Edward steers his horse towards the centre of Caius's abandoned camp. The men are hollering, and there is a deep, unrecognizable growl in the midst of it. It's a guttural sound. It shakes the ground and makes Edward's horse falter in its steps. He dismounts, not liking the prospect of being thrown off if the animal panics. Edward pushes through the crowd of soldiers, towards where he can already see the top of Emmett's head, bobbing as he rears back in a hearty laugh.

In the centre of the circle of the men, Emmett stands arm-length from a low, iron-wrought lion cage. It is draped in thick, dark cloth, obscuring the berserker that Edward presumes it to contain. Under the cloth, the growling sounds, and the bars rattle as if something heavy has been thrown against it. The men yell and whoop.

Emmett has the tip of his sword pointed at the locking lever on the cage door. "Shall I?" he bellows.

The men roar in anticipation.

Edward dashes forward and seizes Emmett's free arm, the metal of the armour cold against his palm. "Emmett!" he says warningly.

But it's too late.

Emmett lifts the latch.

Edward sees the hard outlines of the cage door being opened under the drapes. There is a lowly snarl, then a flash of blonde hair, glittering and yellow under the light of the men's torches, and the drapes are flapping in the wind. Edward glimpses white pointed teeth, and black, black eyes.

Before Emmett has a chance to raise his sword, Edward reaches up and breaks the leather thong off Emmett neck. He puts the talisman between his molars and crushes it, tasting the tang of blood on his tongue for a split second before feeling the power rush through him.

There is wind in his ears, and a sharp tingling that spread from the base of his neck downwards. When Edward raises his arms, they feel like feathers. His vision blackens at the edges as he charges towards the threat in front of him.

There is a heavy thud as his left forearm slams into the berserker's chest. The force sounds like thunder claps and by rights it should have broken bones. Edward only feels a dull throbbing of pain. With his right hand he grabs a handful of wavy blonde hair, and jerks it backwards, keeping the violent snapping jaws from coming to contact with his person.

Edward throws his weight effortlessly against his assailant, feeling light as air, and noting how heavily the berserker's body is thrown onto the dirt ground, and how little of that impact he feels as he lands on top. His tunnel vision narrows his focus to the thrashing body underneath him.

He watches as the berserker's body begins to shrink. The pulsing veins in the thick neck begin to disappear as the bulging muscles shrank into sinewy lines. The inch-long fangs retract, leaving red lines of blood through soft, full lips. The inky black color of the widened eyes gives way to white, and Edward glimpses dark brown irises before eyelids flutter close.

Edward allows the talisman's power to fade as he slowly eases himself off the berserker. The rush of wind in his ears falls to silence. He looks around at the men, who are regaling him with bulging eyes, jaws dropped. He glances up at Emmett, who drops his sword and bends to haul Edward to his feet. "You needn't do that," Emmett says quietly, feigning nonchalance though he is clearly concerned. "I could have taken him."

"And come out of that tussle minus an arm and an eye?" Edward replies, "I don't think so."

Emmett stares down at the still body in the dirt, metal-clad hands resting on Edward's shoulders. "Just a boy," he says, almost as if disappointed, "hardly older than you."

The berserker is indeed young. Or maybe it's just how thin his face looks, framed by dirty blonde tresses that ripple down to the top of his shoulders. His hair is matted with dried blood, dirt, and gods know what else. He has long arms and legs. His pale skin is etched with a hundred jagged scars, a thousand, even. Then those eyes snap open. They are dark, almond eyes, deep and soulful. They blink up at Edward with a mix of anger, agony, and fear.

"Throw him back in the cage," Emmett says loudly. "The rest of you, get to work."

As the men finally break their stunned silence and scatter, Edward watches four daring volunteers come forward to seize the young man. They slide him back into the cage without trouble. The man has no apparent desire to fight.

Edward circles the cage once. Those brown eyes follow him all around.

"What is your name," Edward asks quietly.

"It can't speak," Emmett says from behind. "It can hardly understand. Mind's all broken, tortured into madness. It's not lucid, Edward. It's not people."

"He looks reasonably sane," Edward tells him. "Don't you think so?"

"No," Emmett answers. "You saw how it was before you subdued him. Whoever it was before, it is him no longer. It's been reduced to an animal."

Suddenly the berserker's lips twitches upwards. "Jasper," he rasps. "My name is Japer."

Edward feels a pang of pity. The man is huddled in the far corner of his cage, fingers clutching the shredded remains of his clothes. He struggles between slouching and sitting up straight, his eyes regard his captors warily. Edward crouches near him, holding onto an iron bar.

"Your master left you behind, Jasper," Edward tells him.

Jasper makes a small noise in his throat that makes Edward's heart skip a beat.

Edward continues, voice soft, "He left you here to die in his place."

Jasper doesn't reply to that.

"But we won't hurt you," Edward says, mollifying, "as long as you don't hurt us. How does your master bring on your bloodlust?"

Jasper's bleeding lips are pressed into a line. His gaze is hard as he regards Edward. His brown eyes flicker up and down Edward's person, as if taking him in, evaluating him. Edward feels the corner of his lips tugging upwards into a small smile. Jasper looks away. "The whip," he replies finally.

"The whip," Edward repeats, watching Jasper wince at that. Edward doesn't know what that is, but it sounds like Caius has to go through some reasonable trouble to induce Jasper into bloodlust. It is reassuring, at the least, to know that Jasper isn't likely to be set off by the smallest prod.

"If we let you out of the cage, Jasper, will you run back to your master?"Edward asks gingerly.

Jasper meets his gaze with a look of hopeful surprise. That's enough for Edward.

He motions to his bannermen. "Unlatch the cage," he commands. "Clean him and give him some new clothes. Take him to see the healer if need be. Then bring him to my tent."

His men glance at each other, then at Edward, then at Emmett. "Your Grace?"

Emmett shakes his head defeated. "Do as he says…although if it were me, Edward, I'd kill it now and be rid of it."

Edward gives Emmett a pointed look as they turn away from the cage. "I think he's valuable to Caius," he says in an undertone as they walk back to the horses. "I think we have gained some leverage."

"If it was so valuable, Caius wouldn't have left it behind," Emmett replies.

"Caius made a gamble. To save his own neck he sacrificed a prized soldier, but at the first chance he can he would want Jasper back. I'm sure of it." Edward mounts his steed and steers it back towards their camp.

Emmett pulls up next to him atop his own brute of a warhorse. "That thing isn't a soldier. It's a weapon, like the hunting hounds we keep in the kennels back in the capital."

"Not _it_ , brother," Edward says curtly. " _He_ is a man who serves his master in battle. _He_ is a soldier."

Emmett snorts. "I should tell our father and our vassals to stop trying to entice you with pretty maidens. I should tell them you prefer gleaming fangs and black beastly eyes instead of silky hair and soft velvet creases between the thighs."

Edward scowls, refusing to give Emmett the satisfaction of a snippy retort.

Emmett takes that as an invitation to continue. "I advice against it, personally," he says, waggling his dark eyebrows. "Those sharp little teeth could tear up your nether parts. The monster could have an unrivalled appetite. But if you come out unscathed we'll have to stop calling you Edward the Pure."

In annoyance, Edward spurs his horse into a run. But Emmett isn't one to back down easily, so he does the same, keeping pace alongside his brother.

"We should have a festival," Emmett says as they returned to camp, "and see who can find the Princeling the most frightening monster to warm his bed."

Edward rolls his eyes. "Speaking of beds, you should get to yours. We will give chase to Caius as soon as dawn breaks."

Emmett disappears into his own tent laughing, leaving Edward glaring after him.

Edward hardly had the time to shuck his cloak and kick off his boots before the flap of his tent is opened again. He looks up.

Jasper is swaying, unsteady on his feet. He has a thick collar around his neck, from which several metal chains are attached, and held on the other end by Edward's bannermen. If they were not yanking on the chains, Jasper probably would have collapsed. One of Edward's men is holding a long bamboo rod, striking Jasper smartly on the back of each calf intermittently, prompting him to stagger forward at half shuffling steps.

"What is this?" Edward says, barely containing his outrage. "Take off the collar, and stop hitting him, you'll drive him into bloodlust."

His men stare at him, uncomprehending. The one with the bamboo steps forward. "It won't if we don't draw blood, Your Grace. I heard it's the blood that sets it off."

Edward clenches his hands, trying to rein in his temper. "Take off his collar," he says tersely, between gritted teeth.

His men look uneasy. "Your Grace, it's dangerous."

Edward's eyes flicker over to the corner of his long table, where another one of his talismans sits amongst his maps. "You're dismissed."

"But, Your Grace…"

" _Leave_."

Jasper wobbles slightly as the chains are dropped to the floor, but catches himself. There is a tick in his jaw and a hollowness in his cheeks, as if he is on the brink of collapsing, but is refusing to let himself fall out of pure stubbornness.

Edward steps forward slowly, and watches Jasper's eyes as he reaches for the clasps of the collar. Jasper meets his gaze steadily, dark brown eyes shifting between wary watchfulness and a vacant distant look. When Edward's fingers brushes against the skin on Jasper's neck, he doesn't flinch or turn away. He is the same height as Edward, but perhaps a year or two older. It's the gravity in this eyes and the set of his demeanour that ages his. His hair and soft features are those belonging to a youth. Standing this close, Edward can see the full extent of Jasper's scarring. He has many long angry lines descending from his face down his neck, it looks as if the skin was ripped open and only healed haphazardly, leaving behind unsightly bumps and grooves. The worst of the scars are on his jaw and his neck. It is as if someone had tried to put an axe through Jasper's neck, and missed, many, many times.

Jasper lowers his gaze as Edward appraises him. His dark lashes flutter against his pale skin, and he hangs his head, as if ashamed. Someone had run him through a bath, as Edward asked, but was not as thorough as Edward hoped. Someone has given him a pair of thin, dark trousers, and a wrinkled white tunic. He is still damp from his hurried bath, and splotches of fabric lightened with the water and are stuck to his skin.

Edward has a mixed feeling of sadness and fury. If he has a soldier like this, who is fierce like Jasper, who is as feared, and as proud, Edward would never have him chained in a cage and left to the mercy of his enemies. He wonders how easily he could persuade Jasper to turn his back on Caius, and pledge his loyalty to Edward instead.

As the collar drops and the weight falls from Jasper's neck, he sways backwards. Edward quickly grabs him by the elbows. For someone who looks so thin, the berserker is unexpectedly heavy. Edward realizes perhaps without his talisman he wouldn't even be able to fight off Jasper, even when not in bloodlust.

The muscles under Edward's fingers tighten, and Jasper regains his balance. "Come," Edward manoeuvres him towards the chair.

Jasper sits, bracing his arm against the edge of the table. "I could kill you," he says, but there is no venom in his voice.

"Will you?" Edward asks easily. He pours a cup of water and sets it in Jasper's hand. Jasper throws back his head and downs the drink in one gulp.

"I could," Jasper says, wiping his mouth.

"Why?" Edward pulls up a chair and sits opposite him, watching Jasper's neck muscles ripple as he swallows. "I have no argument with you. My feud is with your master, who you should no longer feel any fealty for. He freed you from his command the moment he left you behind."

Jasper's eyes are blank, unfeeling, emotionless. "I heard you earlier. You're planning to use me to bargain with him."

Edward tries to hide his surprise at that, and is, despite himself, pleased to find that the berserker is alert and intelligent. Emmett is wrong. Again. "I would…if I could find him," Edward replies truthfully, "if you are willing to tell me where he fled to."

Something flickers through Jasper's eyes. It passed so quick that Edward can't place it. "I don't know," Jasper says thickly.

Edward allows himself a small grin. "Of course."

Later, after Jasper has curled up in the adjoining tent under watchful eyes of his guards, Edward finally settles into his cot. The fatigue washes over him the minute his head touches the pillow. He dreams of low, rumbling growls, blood spilling from the sky in a downpour, and brown, careful eyes. He dreams that he is walking over soft skin, stepping lightly over the supple flesh. He trips over the raised edges of jagged scars, and falls into blackness.

Edward wakes up sweating, with his tunic plastered to his back. He sits for a moment before pulling his sheets over his lap. He sits wishing he can forget the feeling those endless miles of pale, pale skin aroused in him, but he is staunchly reminded by the hardness between his legs.

xxx

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Let me know what you think!


	2. The Trade

**The Chimera  
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I don't currently have a Beta, so if you catch any mistakes please let me know, I'll fix it. I apologize in advance.

Note: Implied non-con ahead…tread lightly now.

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 **Two: The Trade**

In the morning, Edward refuses to allow Emmett shut Jasper back in his cage.

"Allow him some dignity," Edward says, irked by Emmett's insistence.

Emmett glares back at him from his horse. "Brutes like it don't have dignity."

"Let him walk," Edward barks back at his bannermen. They spare each other a dark look before begrudgingly fastening Jasper's chains onto their saddles. The other end of the chains is wrapped around the berserker's wrists.

"Move," a bannerman snarls and strikes Jasper in the back of the head with the sharp end of his scabbard.

"It could pull the horses to their knees. It could rip us apart." the men mumble among themselves.

"He can't if he's not in bloodlust," Edward snaps back at them. "So don't agitate him."

Another bannerman has raised his sheathed sword, ready to hit Jasper again, but at Edward's words he thinks better of it.

Edward meets the berserker's eyes. Those brown eyes search his for a second, then Jasper looks away, pink in the cheeks. Edward turns back around in his saddle, and spurs his horse forward.

They broke camp several hours ago at dawn, and made ready to track Caius and his troops through the winding valleys. Emmett sent his scouts ahead to survey the land. The woods can be treacherous and the trails can be dangerous, even in the light of the morning sun.

Edward has planned to go only as far as the next bend of the river. He doesn't imagine Caius would be waiting for them anyplace nearby. The trespasser had hours on them and if he is half the coward Edward thinks he is, he would have entered the mountain paths already, scampering back to Volturia.

For the first time since Edward arrived at the borderlands, he is wrong.

As the sun crossed through the clouds and the shadows of the towering green wood grew longer and longer, the scouts return. They report seeing a lone riding heading their way – wearing the red crest of Caius, and waving a white flag. Emmett and Edward ride ahead to meet with him. They stop at a clearing upon a small bald hill in the middle of the forest.

The messenger leaps off his horse as he approaches, and sinks onto one knee.

"His Excellency, Caius of Volturia, wishes to call a truce," the messenger announces.

Emmett snorts and looks at Edward. Caius is not known to call for truces. Caius is known for razing towns, burning farms, and sending his troops where they don't belong. Aro, the head of the Volturi triumvirate, is who usually comes pleading for a peaceful solution when Caius is depleted of men and food and nearly beat. Aro comes bearing gifts and a fake smile, promising cease-fires and treaties. He is the one who discusses diplomacy in the great halls of King Carlisle's palace, where his empty words and false gestures fool no one. He is the one who takes advantage of the King's seemingly endless patience, and pretends to lament over his apparent inability to exercise control over Caius.

"A truce on what terms?" Emmett demands.

The messenger dips his head into a bow. "His Excellency seeks the return of his berserker."

Emmett looks at Edward, one eyebrow raised. What do we do, his eyes asks. Edward thinks for a minute. "Go back and tell him I am willing to discuss his conditions. My men will camp here today, until he is ready."

The messenger bows lower to the ground. "His Excellency wishes to receive Your Grace in his camp at sundown for a pleasant discussion over wine and food, and His Excellency requests for Your Grace to bring along his berserker."

"I'd rather see your master on the battlefield than over dinner," Emmett growls.

Edward gives him a sideways glance that silences him. "Tell Caius that this bloodshed has gone on for too long, he must leave our lands unless he seeks death."

"His Excellency is withdrawing his battalions back to Volturia," the messenger replies, "but he cannot bear to depart without his berserker."

Edward squares his shoulders. "I will deliver his berserker tonight after sundown to hasten his return."

The messenger rattles off his thanks, hops back on his horse, and rides away.

Emmett turns to stare at Edward. "We cannot accept his truce. Caius has to pay for the damage he has done, the lands his men have torched, the women they have raped, and the lives they claimed."

"He will," Edward assures him, turning to descend from the hill.

"How?" Emmett calls after him.

Edward does not answer. "Make camp!" he tells his men. His eyes find the tangled blonde waves in the midst of bright metal and polished helmets. He has a plan.

Emmett catches up and seizes Edward's shoulder. "We need to kill him," he says brusquely.

"We can't," Edward replies simply.

"We will ride back to the capital with his head on a spear."

"We won't."

Emmett falls silent and glowers at him, eyes spitting fire.

Edward lets out a frustrated huff. "Killing Caius will incite a war. We don't have enough men or gold or allies to fund a war, especially not against the Volturi, who, along with berserkers, command trolls and giants. Our men will be decimated."

"So you'll just hand him his pet beast and let him go on his merry way?" Emmett says heatedly.

"No," Edward replies calmly. "We will teach him a lesson."

Emmett's stormy eyes lighten as he perks up, intrigued.

Careful preparations are to be made.

While Emmett organizes the men, Edward returns to his tent. He has his own plans to set in motion.

Although the berserker unnerves him, Edward feels an obligation to do right by the man. It is a task made difficult by their positions, as Jasper makes no efforts to hide his distrust of the Princeling. He has every reason to be suspicious of Edward. He is a prisoner taken in battle, and by all rights he should be dead or worse. Edward only spared his life to gain an advantage over his enemy. It wasn't out of the kindness of his heart. It was strategy. To Edward, the berserker is a pawn in a game of kings. Yet, when Jasper is brought before him, Edward feels an unexpected pang of guilt.

Jasper's dark eyes are alert, watching silently as Edward turns his back to discard his riding cloak in favor of his royal blue robe – one more fitting for a dinner with a tyrant.

"Your master sent us a message," Edward begins. At the sound of silence, he turns to survey Jasper.

The berserker's gaze flicker meaningfully between Edward's two bannermen. They are standing with their hands tight around the hilt of their swords and their narrowed eyes flashing at the berserker. They look ready to draw blood at Jasper's slightest movement.

Edward only hesitates for a moment before dismissing them.

He motions Jasper towards a chair as the tent flap closes. "Do you know what your master wanted?" Edward starts again.

Jasper takes his seat awkwardly, looking uncomfortable. "No."

Edward eases himself onto the corner of the table and sits with one foot on the floor while the other dangles very close to Jasper. He doesn't miss the way the berserker's hands twitched when his leg swings too close.

After a moment of pregnant silence, Edward speaks up. "What did you do for Caius?"

Berserkers are made to be expendable, with a lifespan as long as battles and as short as minutes. The Volturi commanders are not known to get attached. Caius's reported closeness with Jasper is an anomaly.

"I did what a berserker does." Jasper's eyelashes sweep over his cheeks, hiding his intelligent eyes. Edward catches himself thinking that those are surely not the eyes of a beast, and feels an inexplicable urge to smile.

"But he values you?" Edward presses. "My brother tells me you never left his side in battle."

Jasper doesn't answer. His long pale fingers thread together as he fidgets with them.

"Caius had other berserkers, I heard," Edward says easily.

Jasper responds with a small nod. His shoulders drop a little. Although he is still reluctant with his answers and unforthcoming with his words, he appears to be more comfortable in the prince's presence. To Edward, that is a good sign.

"He didn't seem to care much for the others." Edward continues. He raises one hand over a goblet on the table and lazily draws the tips of his fingers along the edge of it.

"They died. Drowned." Jasper looks up and catches Edward staring. He sees something in Edward's face that makes his dark eyes go even darker.

"Yes, when they crossed the border. I heard." Edward picks up the goblet and twirls the ornate stem between his fingers. "Iced wine," he explains, holding Jasper's gaze, "from the northern reaches. It's a favorite of mine." Edward holds the goblet to his lips and watches Jasper's avid eyes trail down his neck as he swallows. Jasper has an unreadable look on his face. "Would you like to try?" Edward offers genially.

Jasper takes the goblet from his hand, fingers brushing Edward's slightly. He presses the rim to his dry lips and drinks, hands shaking.

Edward lets out a small breath he didn't know he was holding. "You will be coming with me tonight," he tells Jasper finally.

Jasper looks up sharply. "Where?"

Edward schools his face into a nonchalant mask. "I am returning you to your master for a promise of truce."

The thing that flickers through Jasper's eyes isn't joy or even relief. To Edward's surprise, fear shines through those chestnut orbs, followed by panic.

Jasper stands abruptly, staggers, and falls. Edward tries to catch him, but Jasper is too heavy and he hits the ground with a loud thud, taking the chair with him.

"Edward?" Emmett bursts into the tent at the sound, along with a trio of guards brandishing long spears. He calls them off at the sight of Jasper's slumped body. The guards move to drag him from the tent.

"Careful," Edward says as Jasper's elbow hits the leg of the table.

Emmett slings one thick arm across Edward's shoulders, eyeing the unconscious berserker doubtfully. "I still think it's too dangerous. I should go with you."

"No," Edward says firmly, "stay behind and make sure all the pieces are laid as planned."

Emmett huffs. "You won that scuffle with him last night out of pure luck. He was already fatigued and near collapse. Next time he will be stronger and faster. A berserker can rampage for days on end, and your little talismans can only provide a minute of precious strength."

Edward doesn't want to be reminded of that, but at least Emmett isn't referring to Jasper as _it_ anymore. "He won't be rampaging anywhere anytime soon," Edward replies dismissively. "He can't go into bloodlust if he can't be woken up."

Emmett doesn't look reassured.

It may have been that lingering look of concern Emmett had, or it could have been his warning, all Edward knows is that when the time came for him to make his way towards Caius's camp, he feels less confident that he ought to.

Part of that queasy feeling isn't anxiousness or apprehension. Part of it has to do with the berserker's uncertain fate and the unsettling flash of fear that coursed through his face.

Edward watches as the Volturi soldiers take Jasper, who is unconscious in his cage atop a horse-drawn cart.

His wariness of Jasper stems from the berserker's loyalty to Caius, and the possibility that he may have been planted like the Trojan Horse to be unleashed when least expected. But there is a raw honestly in Jasper's eyes and a tortured moroseness in his manner that prompts Edward to think otherwise. Jasper isn't wily enough to be a spy, nor fastidious enough to be assassin. His demeanour is more like that of a misused servant, trapped in service to a callous master.

Edward briefly considered the notion of keeping Jasper prisoner, but he has many good reasons to make the trade and no good reasons to bring a berserker back to the capital. Edward's practical mind always overrules his emotional inclinations, regardless of how strongly he feels he might regret his decision deep in his heart.

The Volturi set up camp at the bank of the winding river. Upon entry, Edward rides past countless limping men and amputees with sorrowful eyes, bleeding from stumps. His men have definitely taken more causalities, on account of the Chimera, yet his camp doesn't look half as pitiful as this. Which begs the question: where have the fit men gone?

Edward is fairly certain that he knows the answer.

From the edge of the camp, where Caius's massive commander's tent is situated, Edward can almost see the tip of the bald hill where his own men are resting, and where Emmett is now. The mere sight of it soothes him a little.

"Your Grace," a servant lifts the flap of the tent and waves Edward inside.

Edward squares his shoulder and takes a deep breath.

The Volturi commander's quarters is starkly different from Edward's simple tent. The walls are draped with tapestries and soft billowing curtains. The floor is laid with clean wooden planks and covered in thick rugs. The smell of perfumes and incense keep the stink of the camp at bay. Behind a low-lying table laid with wines and plates, Caius is lounging on silken pillows. He has white blond hair falling to his waist, a thin face, and an insincere smile. He is donned in gold-stitched robes and weighed down with precious stones at his neck and wrists. He looks like he should be sitting in a garden pavilion somewhere lavish, not in the aftermath of a grim battle where good men died for his greed. Edward is usually a good judge of people, and his first impression of Caius makes him want to turn right around and walk away.

But that is not an option.

"Well met, Your Grace," Caius drawls as he approaches, "I've long wished to look upon Edward the Conqueror, Edward the Great Defender, Edward the Good." Caius clasps his hands in a hearty handshake that is held for too long.

Edward withdraws himself gingerly from the other man's grasp. "The feeling is mutual, I assure you."

Caius guides him to a set of pillows. Edward takes a seat, his bannermen stay outside, at the door of the tent, ever watchful. Loud gaudy music strikes up and the food is brought out on small ornate tables. Caius laughs and reclines, reaching for a plate of steaming plums, stuffed with rice and meats. Edward doesn't touch anything – can't put it past the Volturi to poison a dinner guest.

"I am sad to see Prince Emmett won't be joining us," Caius says, dipping his fingers in sauce and sucking them.

Edward forces his face into a tight smile. "He was adamant about remaining at camp with the men."

"That's unfortunate," Caius says cheerily, tearing into a leg of lamb.

Edward waves away a plate of spiced cheese balls. "I brought back your berserker, but had to put him to sleep, of course. Otherwise, if he went into bloodlust along the way we would have to return him in a lesser condition."

Caius wipes his mouth on the sleeve of a servant girl. "Yes, the Dreaming Draught, very clever." He waves his hand, and the girl retreats into the curtains behind him. Caius regards Edward with mocking eyes as she re-emerges, with one end of a thick iron chain in her hands. "I just happened to have the anecdote in my possession," he says smoothly.

Edward didn't count on that.

He watches the chain emerges inch by inch out from behind the curtains. He had an inkling that Caius may try to use Jasper against him upon meeting. Emmett has lent Edward a sizeable party to ensure his safety, but against a raging berserker they offer a threadbare protection. And, to take things from bad to worse, the entirety of this party is outside the tent at the moment.

Edward had felt guilty for deceiving Jasper. He tampered with the wine and pretended to sip to trick Jasper into drinking it. He told himself he had to do it for his own protection. Berserkers are volatile and often incapable of distinguishing between friend and foe, thus whatever connection Jasper shared with him in their short time together cannot be counted on to prevent the possibility of a gruesome death. Edward did it because he couldn't risk it. And now, it seems, it was all for naught.

He palms the talismans in his robe pocket, brought as a precaution. He only has two of them. He grits his teeth as he remembers Emmett's warning – a minute each. He has to use them wisely.

Edward has half-risen from his seat, bracing himself for the bloody eventuality that he knows will ensue, but stops when he catches a glimpse of the man who emerges from behind the curtain.

Jasper has a collar around his neck again, from which the thick chain hangs. His hair is washed and combed. What Edward thought was a dirty blonde turns out to be closer to honey in hue. The layers of soft waves are streaked with burnt ochre among the dashes of brilliant gold. The tips of his tresses curl and brush the top of his bared shoulders. Someone took care to bathe him properly, scrubbed him down so meticulously that his usually pale skin is flushed pink at the effort. Without the mud under his skin, his scars are less visible. He is dressed in a thin red robe that is enticingly wide at the collar and currently slipping off his shoulders.

Edward is suddenly reminded of his dream. He sits back down and folds his napkin over his lap, overwhelmed by a feeling that is definitely not fear and totally inappropriate.

Jasper is staring at the ground, face flushed, and refusing to meet anyone's eye. Even when he is forced onto his knees by the jerking of the chain, and Caius seizes his chin between his fingers, Jasper still averts his gaze. Edward idly wonders how sadistic and deranged Caius must be to dress his berserker in the clothes of a consort. Edward has trampled through enough whorehouses looking for Emmett that he knows a bed slave when he sees one. Jasper's scarlet robe is embroidered and soft, clinging to Jasper in a way that is hardly proper. It is fitted to him, meaning that Caius had extravagant, showy fabrics picked out and sewn for his berserker, which Edward does not understand.

Caius forces Jasper's face upwards and turns it towards Edward. "Thank the Prince for returning you to me." There is a steely tone hidden in his soft cooing voice that Edward doesn't miss.

Jasper mutters something incomprehensible under his breath.

Caius looks to Edward, eyes suddenly hard. "You should have killed him," he says coldly.

Edward doesn't answer, still stunned by Jasper's appearance.

He watches as Caius's free hand slide over the silks and settle on Jasper's thigh. Jasper stiffens at the touch, his shoulders too straight and his pose too rigid. The tendons in the back of Caius's hand shift as he squeezes, fingers digging into the inside of Jasper's groin. It isn't an affectionate gesture. It is an expression of dominance and possession. And it turns Edward's stomach.

"He was a lancer," Caius says, tipping his head at his guest, "one of my best, before he became the thing he is today. He rode a horse like he was born atop it, and could jab a spear through your heart and out the back with one thrust." Caius's touches, gliding over Jasper's body, are too intimate, too familiar, and altogether unseemly..

"He was deft with spears and lances off the battlefield as well, and a better rider too," Caius says with laughing eyes and a secretive smirk. Edward feels like he missed the joke.

Caius continues, "Of course most of the time he was too drunk off the wine, and twitching from the lust magic, to remember anything, but we all have to do our duty, for the good of the kingdom." His hand slides further up Jasper's thigh. He reaches down between the berserker's legs and squeezes. Jasper almost managed to hide his wince.

Lust magic is a vile thing, known to drive maidens into wanton madness. It was commonly used in brothels, before it was banned by King Carlisle. To use such magic on the unwilling is unheard of, and for a commander to cast it upon soldiers under his command is nothing short of evil. Edward feels his blood boiling and his anger surging. "For the good of the kingdom," Edward echoes harshly.

"Are you interested, Your Grace?" Caius asks suddenly.

Edward raises a flute of wine shakily to his lips, grasping at the ends of his civility and forgetting that he isn't supposed to drink anything. "What do you mean?"

Caius ruffles Jasper's hair while the berserker's gaze continues to bore into the floor. "I've heard many interesting tales about Edward the Pure. A pretty girl in my fortress lived in King Carlisle's palace for a summer until he sent her back. She was a gift from Aro, but she tells me the King only has eyes for his Queen."

"Yes, that is true." Edward cannot tear his eyes from Jasper's downturned face, willing him to look up, to show Edward what is passing through his head with his candid eyes.

"She also told me in the centre of the palace, there is a garden where all the maidens who hope to find favor with the Crown sit, like flowers amongst flowers," Caius pauses. "Prince Emmett visits the garden often."

Edward's lips curl up into a forced smile. "He hardly ever leaves."

"But the girl tells me she's never seen you."

Edward finally tears his eyes away from Jasper. He meets Caius's flashing eyes.

"She wondered if there is another garden like that, but full of handsome boys with wicked smiles instead of silly girls in plaits and fancy dresses."

Edward scowls, offended. "There is no such garden," he says, then adds, "and there would be no use for one."

Caius shrugs. "These are the kinds of tales I hear about Prince Edward the Strange."

"Tall tales, I'm afraid," Edward replies tersely.

Edward feels Jasper's gaze flicker over to him at that, but when he turns to look, Jasper is staring at the rug again. His pale fingers are curled into fists on his lap.

"I never dismiss tall tales," Caius says, "I have seen enough impossible things that I believe anything could be true. Am I right?" When Caius reaches upwards, Jasper flinches at the movement. But Caius only tugs lightly on a strand of his rippling hair, before dropping his hand onto Jasper's shoulder.

"Speaking of strange things," Edward says slowly, "if Jasper was a prized lancer, why was he chosen to become the Chimera?"

"Most of the other died during the transformation," Caius replies simply, "Jasper was chosen because he was strong."

Edward feels the muscles in his face twitch in response. He is having difficulty retaining his composure. "That's a cruel way to repay a man for his loyalty."

Caius grins, unperturbed. "We all need to make sacrifices, for the good of the kingdom."

Edward watches Jasper's clasped hands tremble. "Although it seems unfair that some sacrifice so little, while others sacrifice too much."

"It comes down to how much one is willing to give. I, for one, am willing to sacrifice it all." Caius's tone is dangerous.

He moves suddenly, prompting Edward to recoil backwards on reflex. Caius snatches the back of Jasper's robe and tears it off his body, tossing it to the side. He jerks the chain and Jasper stands, naked and towering over Edward.

His lean muscles make hard lines under his skin, and his jagged scars trail from his neck down to his strong calves, running in every which direction. His hands are balled into fists at his side; the smooth curves of his supple thighs meet at a place that Edward tries not to stare at. But the bend of Jasper's hardened manhood is enticing, and it takes all of Edward's self-control to force himself to look up at Jasper's pale, expressionless face instead.

Jasper meets his eyes, looking conflicted.

Behind him, Caius stands. He raises his arms and _CRACK._ The whip soars through the perfumed air before carving a thick red line in the middle of Jasper's back. The force of it drives the air from his lungs, and he gasps. _CRACK_. _CRACK. CRACK_. Jasper falls to his knees.

Slowly, he begins to twitch.

The whip, Edward remembers belatedly. Oh, the whip.

Jasper grows. His muscles bulge and his pale skin stretches. The whites of his eyes turn black, fangs protrude from his mouth, and black claws sprout from his hands. His breath becomes ragged and hoarse. In the span of a heartbeat, he doubles in size and girth, and his member is swollen and pressed against his belly. Edward thinks this is a terrible time to be taken by the berserker's eerie beauty. Beautiful, but deadly, he reminds himself, positively fatal, in fact.

Edward's fingers close around his talismans, trying to remember how far he is from the door of the tent, not daring to spare a glance back over his shoulder. As Jasper's growl fill the tent, Edward can hear shouting outside. He wonders if Emmett's men are fighting to get to his side or scattering in the opposite direction, fleeing for their lives.

"Kill him," Caius commands gleefully.

Jasper rears. He smashes the low table before him and takes a jerking step towards Edward, who shrinks back. Edward searches Jasper's inky eyes for a cue, waiting for the first strike.

Suddenly, Jasper turns his back.

He lunges at the servants who are gripping the end of his chain. Caius's piercing scream cuts through the tent, accompanied by the sound of bones snapping. Edward shuffles backwards until his shoulder blades hits the tapestry hanging along the walls, wishing he couldn't see the carnage before him or witness Jasper's brutality. Edward squeezes his eyes shut in horror. When he opens them again a second later, there's the servant girl on the ground before him, lying prone in a pool of crimson. Her gaze is fixed upon him but unseeing. A chunk of her neck missing.

Jasper spins around. His mouth is dripping with fresh blood. He slashes wildly at the dumbfounded Caius. The back of his bear-sized hand slams into the Volturi's chest, throwing him against a decorative column. The whole tent shakes. Caius falls onto his side, unmoving.

Edward is almost too scared to breathe.

Jasper roars. The guttural sound is deep, resonating through the ground. His black eyes find Edward. He lunges.

Edward bites the talismans in a panic and crosses his hands over his face.

Jasper collides into him, pinning him onto the floor.

Edward grits his teeth, charm-strengthened arms straining under the berserker's weight. Jasper raises an arm that is as thick as a tree trunk. Edward braces himself and hopes that Emmett is sticking to the plan. Even if he doesn't make it out of here alive, at least Emmett will win this war.

Jasper swings his arm downwards, knocking the jug of wine off the table next to Edward, and splashing them both. Edward kicks at him, his heels connecting with muscles as hard as stone.

"Jasper," Edward gasps. "Stop!"

Blinking madly as droplets of wine runs down his face and drips off his eyelashes, Edward digs his elbows to Jasper's chest, feeling as if the berserker's heated skin is about to set him on fire. "Get a hold on yourself, Jasper! Look at me. I know you. You are not a monster. Jasper! Jasper?" Edward pushes against him, feeling him shake, feeling his heart thump a hundred beats a minute, feeling him fighting against his bloodlust, against himself.

Jasper starts to shrink.

Edward feels the talisman's power dissipate, and his arm buckle under the berserker's weight. Jasper falls on top of him, corners of his eyes turning white again before rolling into the back of his head. "Jasper. Jasper." Edward holds the other man's contorted face, pressing his palms against the muscled jaws, brushing his thumb against high cheekbones, and smoothing back the wild, blood-matted hair. Jasper twitches as his muscles melt away. "I'm sorry I tricked you," Edward says, "But I had to." Jasper thrashes, as if invisible ropes are pulling at him. "Hush." Edward loops his arms around his neck and holds him, cradling. "Hush, Jasper, hush." It's the same thing he does to calm his little sister, Alice, when she cries. Edward rocks him lightly, cooing all the while.

"I can't know that you won't kill me, but I trust that you don't want to," Edward says breathily. "I know that. I know _you_. Hush…shhhh…hush." Out of habit, Edward leans down, as he does when he holds Alice, and presses a lingering kiss on Jasper's temple. Jasper stops shaking. Edward kisses him again, soft lips against his hot skin. When Edward pulls away, Jasper is looking up at him, eyes wide, brown irises dilated in pain.

Edward presses his hand into the centre of Jasper's bare chest and whispers a familiar incantation. It's a little bit of healing magic, the King's sorcerers casts it on the sickly, before they're cut open. Jasper's ragged breathing slows, and the tension disappears from his spasming muscles. Edward catches Jasper looking down at himself, wedged between the Prince's knees. "Does it still hurt?" Edward asks softly.

Jasper shakes his head slightly.

The muted shouts outside grows louder into clamouring. There's the sound of hooves and men running. The tent flap is suddenly thrown wide. "Edward!" Emmett bellows.

Jasper jerks up before Edward can stop him, startled. He takes two staggering steps, and falls again, into a heap of bloodied silk pillows.

"I'm here," Edward replies, sitting up shakily. Relief floods through him at the sight of his brother. "I'm fine."

Emmett's men rush in and make a beeline for the slumped figure of Caius.

Emmett, for the second time in two days, hauls Edward to his feet, and laughs. "Worked like a charm, just like you said it would," he tells Edward, beaming. "We strung up the torches and sprinkled the camp with fire powder. Caius's men came sneaking in like foxes looking for chickens, just as you predicted. We set them ablaze. You should have heard them scream."

Edward smooths down the front of his robes. "I think I'd rather not."

Emmett stops his men as they drag Caius past, so he could take a closer look at the man. Caius is still slouched in a dead faint, and wrapped up in one of his tapestries. "We got the son of a whore," Emmett smiles widely, and turns to his men. "Kill the rest, leave no survivors."

"Except Jasper," Edward says quickly. Emmett's hulking bannermen are standing over the naked figure of the berserker with their spears raised.

Emmett looks at him, surprised. "Why? We've no more use for him."

"No one touches the berserker!" Edward snarls. Emmett raises his hands in front of his chest, taken off guard by Edward's ferocity. He regards his brother for a moment before nodding at his men. Two of them bend to pick Jasper up by his chains.

Exhausted, Edward sits down atop a low table, knocking over a plate of tamarinds. He watches as Jasper is flipped onto a red-stained sheet of curtain and carefully dragged out of sight.

Emmett looks around the tent, taking the butchery before him in stride. He picks up a small bunch of grapes, still sitting in their bowl, and pops one in his mouth.

"So," he says thoughtfully, glancing at Edward sideways, "why was he naked?"

xxx

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Next chapter will be called _A New Guard_.

I've planned to wrap this story up in five(ish) more updates, but they will be long chapters and will take some time to write and edit. So please bear with me!


	3. The New Guard

**The Chimera**

* * *

We're getting somewhere! Thanks for bearing with me!

* * *

 **Three: The New Guard**

They looted the Volturi camp, took all they could carry, and trashed the rest. The bodies were burned in a bonfire that smoked for a day and more. The smell of it spoiled Edward's appetite for meat indefinitely. Emmett had the men set the charred skulls upon stakes hammered into the bald hill. He says it will serve as a warning. Edward thinks they'll become a feast for the crows.

The soldiers bound Caius to a tree, content with letting him shout himself hoarse. As for Jasper, the very sight makes the men nervous, so they shut him back in his cage. Edward was planning to remedy that when Emmett corners him, unhappy about the berserker presence.

"The Chimera is the symbol of our enemy's strength," Emmett growls. "We should kill him and be done with it."

"He is a _man_ ," Edward counters, "and his life is worth more than that."

Emmett takes his frustration out on a tent nearby, striking at the poles with his broadsword, collapsing it. Edward rolls his eyes, unimpressed. He glances over at the cloth-covered cage. "Was he given lunch today?"

"No, brother, we didn't feed the berserker," Emmett replies sardonically. "No one wanted to die today, see?"

"I'm sure he eats normal food," Edward snaps.

Emmett snorts. "I'm sure he eats common sense too. I see you're missing yours. Did you feed it to him per chance?"

Edward turns and stomps off. "I'm letting him out of the cage," he says sharply over his shoulder.

The cook prepared a portion of rice with chicken gravy and beans at the Princeling's behest. Edward sticks a hard slab of seed bread into the dish and makes his way to the cage.

He lifts the draping to find Jasper staring at his left hand with a repulsed look on his face. The black curved claws are still protruding from it, delayed in retraction by the suddenness of his returning transformation, perhaps. He scratches at the claws with his good hand. Someone has given him a long dark tunic fraying at the hems and thick trousers that are too short. He eyes the Princeling warily.

Edward slides the dish under the bars without a word.

Jasper immediately bends over the plate, lapping at the gravy, and scooping up the rice and beans with the bread. He devours the meal as if he hasn't eaten in days. Now that Edward thinks about it, it's very possible that he hasn't.

Jasper's hair tumbles around his face, honey streaks rippling like a waterfall. Edward resists the urge to reach through the bars to tuck the strands behind his ear. "Jasper," he says faintly, "slow down."

The berserker straightens, swallowing his last bite, and eyes the empty plate guiltily. Edward didn't mean to shame him. "It's okay. I'll bring you more."

Jasper shakes his head quickly and sits back, clawed hand draping over his abdomen, looking sated.

Edward nods towards the hand. "Does that always happen?"

Jasper shakes his head, looking forlorn. "It didn't even take the first time," he volunteers, sounding defensive.

"The first time?" Edward repeats as Jasper averts his eyes.

"I wouldn't go into bloodlust no matter how hard they tried," he says, slim face expressionless. "I almost bled out before I grew fangs."

Edward tries to ignore the gruesome images that spring to mind at those words. He winces inwardly, recalling the sound of the whip. "Is it easier now?"

"Only faster," Jasper replies. "It's never easier." His brown eyes watch Edward carefully. "I've heard of you before. They call you the Sorcerer Prince. I thought you'd be old, like the sorcerers who made me."

The bitterness in his voice makes Edward cringe. "Not all sorcerers…" Edward gesticulates with his hands, unsure how to redeem himself in Jasper's eyes, and even less certain why he feels the need to do so. "There are rules, and they broke them when they did that to you."

Jasper's grin is mirthless. "Doesn't matter, does it? It's done."

Edward lets his distress show. "They didn't _make_ you, Jasper. They hurt you, they used you, and they were cruel for doing so. But you are no less of what you were before. You are only different, that is all." He reaches gingerly and takes Jasper's hand. The claws have shortened somewhat. "Even before that, when they used lust magicks on you, it was a barbarous thing, and we do not allow that in our land."

Jasper looks away at that and hangs his head – ashamed.

"It's not your doing, of course," Edward adds quickly. "Actually sometimes I think Emmett is under the influence of lust spells," he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "You've heard they call him the Loving Prince?"

His smile falters at the look that crosses Jasper's face. "I'm only jesting. Although I did try to slip an impotent curse under his bed once, but it didn't work…"

Jasper regards him quietly as he trails off, losing his trail of through in those speckled brown orbs.

The silence quickly becomes uncomfortable.

Edward pulls his hand back. Jasper's claw has returned to normal.

"Do you–" Edward begins, but pauses awkwardly, "do you play chess?"

Jasper's eyebrow arches up, quietly surprised. He thinks for a minute and nods. Edward gladly unlocks the door of his cage.

Emmett finds them not long after, heads bowed over a chessboard. Edward looks up at the sound of his heavy boots crossing the space of the tent with long strides. He stands over the table and stares hard at Jasper. Edward starts to ask him to leave, annoyed by the hardness in his eyes, and disturbed by its effect on the berserker. But Emmett opens his mouth first.

"So," he turns his gaze towards Edward as Jasper squirms in his seat. "When are we going to kill him?"

A nervous look disturbs Jasper's previously tranquil features.

"No," Edward replies loudly. "No, we're not– we are _not_ going to kill him."

Emmett lets that sink in for a second. "I don't understand."

Edward almost growls. "Do you need me to use smaller words?" he asks sarcastically.

"What are you keeping him _for_?" Emmett demands, pointing at the berserker.

Edward huffs, he knew this question was coming but he hasn't thought it through. He sits in steaming silence, glaring up at his brother, trying to find a reason.

"When I joked about finding a beast to warm your bed I was mocking you," Emmett says flatly, "not giving you a suggestion.

Edward feels his face heating up. "Jasper is a fierce fighter and a good soldier. He can be an asset to us."

"He is not a soldier," Emmett says, exasperated, "he is Caius's property."

Edward crosses his arms. "He _was_ , but the winner of the war takes the spoils. He is mine now."

Emmett narrows his eyes. "What do you need a berserker for? The campaign is over."

"I need a– a guard," Edward replies. "You have guards, many guards, and armed retainers, and shieldsmen…"

"Of course I do," Emmett shouts, "because I go into battle. You move little wooden pieces around on a map."

Edward's annoyed frown deepens into a glower. "Yes, that is what I do. I plan how you can go into battle so you would win and how your men can avoid being ambushed or flanked and die by the squadron. But if I am wrong, and your troops perish, and you with it, I need a guard to ensure my safety."

Emmett purses his lips, skeptical. "He'll run for it the first chance he gets, or worse, he'll crush your neck and put an axe through your spine."

"I won't," Jasper says clearly. He looks mildly surprised at his own words. His face reddens as he glances at Edward. "I swear it."

Emmett's dimples accentuating his sneer. "Recant your vows to Caius and pledge yourself to Edward," he taunts.

Jasper hesitates for a heartbeat, looking between the brothers. To Edward's astonishment, he gets down on his knees, raising one hand in pledge. "Let the gods and the men bear witness." His soft voice is husky. "I renounce my former liege lord and I accept his defeat. If you will have me, Your Grace, I will pledge my fealty to you."

"I–" Edward takes a breath and tries again. "I will have you." He quickly recovers from his amazement and looks up at Emmett. "There. Done."

Emmett glares at Jasper. "If you break this oath I swear to the gods I will pull your innards out from your ass."

" _Brother_ ," Edward groans.

Emmett ignores him and knocks the chess pieces over with a flick of his big hands. "Do your duty, soldier. Go guard the door."

Jasper hurries to his feet and slips out of the tent.

Edward picks up his white king and sighs. "One more move and I would have won."

Emmett lowers himself into Jasper's seat and leans back, arms folded across his chest. He has a concerned look in his eyes. "I had that happen to me once," he says casually. "I captured a pretty little Volturi servant girl. She had hair as yellow as corn and eyes like a doe. She turned on her old masters quickly enough. One day, I took her into bed and exhausted myself. I woke later that night to find her holding a black dagger an inch from my face. I killed her."

Edward clicks his tongue in irritation. "Jasper isn't a vengeful Volturi chambermaid."

"Oh, no, he's just a deranged Volturi berserker," Emmett stands, grinning mockingly, "a broken one, at that."

"Put him in a tunic with our colors," Edward calls after his brother as he makes his way to the door, "perhaps then the men won't fear him so.

Emmett doesn't look back. "And you put some of your talismans around your little neck, and I won't fear him so."

Edward struggles with is pride briefly before conceding that Emmett's disquiet is well founded. He digs up his last talisman and slips it into his pocket.

Emmett allowed the men a night of rest before riding back towards the capital. Spirits are high, the campaign is over, and the belligerent Volturi trespasser is captured. There will be no more battles tomorrow, and everyone is thankful for that.

Edward gives Jasper one of Caius's horses. It takes them all day to ride out of the valleys, and Jasper kept pace alongside Edward the entire way. He is a good rider, spurring he mare along with lazy taps of his heel, and picking the easiest trails. His mount is sure-footed under his lead, while some of Emmett's cavalry, who were native to these parts, found the going difficult.

They put Caius in Jasper's cage. The commander didn't like that. The men laughed when he complained the iron was getting too hot to touch. They pretended to be deaf when he demanded a drink of water. Edward has never seen the need to intentionally treat prisoners poorly, however Caius is different. He isn't being marched towards the noose. Edward allowed the men to do as they pleased because he doesn't have the heart to tell them the truth. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised to find Aro waiting for them on the steps of the palace, bearing gifts and promising peace for the return of his brother.

It's a long week's ride back to the heart of the kingdom. Jasper stands by the door of Edward's tent every night, and strikes an imposing figure in camp during the day. The men still refer to him as the Chimera in whispered conversations. No one dares to approach him, and gives the Princeling a wide berth by extension. Even Edward's own bannermen keeps their distance, leaving Jasper to guard Edward alone.

On the sixth night, storm clouds roll in from the south. The sound of fat raindrops spattering onto oiled canvas wakes Edward with a start. He calls Jasper inside. "Stay dry," he says groggily in the general direction of the door, then turns over and goes back to sleep.

Edward drifts between dreams, his slumber disturbed by the slapping of the rain, the booms of thunder, and the white flashes of lightning that sears the inside of his eyelids. He sees a girl with blood dripping from her lips and her spine torn out of her neck. She is pale and small. As Edward watches glistening fangs grow from between her lips, and scarlet droplets draw a picture over the ivory. There that jagged scar again, he sees it every night. He reaches for it. The grooves in the skin glow like embers, throbbing with orange and gold, and catch alight. The fire licks up Edward's arms. It's a sweet, sweet burn.

He wakes suddenly. A bolt of lightning illuminates Jasper's white face, leaning down close. Edward's surprised gasp catches in his throat. The berserker's brows are furrowed into a line. His hair, still damp from the rain, frames his solemn face.

Emmett's story about his Volturi prisoner flashes through Edward's mind.

The thunder shakes the ground, the lightning passes, and darkness swallows up Jasper's face again. Edward feels cold sweat behind his neck.

"You were groaning in your sleep." The bass in Jasper's quiet voice rumbles through the darkness.

Edward's head falls heavily back into his pillow. He lets out a silent sigh, immediately ashamed that he jumped to assume the worst about the berserker.

He doesn't notice Jasper's weight on his bed until he gets up to leave. Edward reaches automatically into the dark. He doesn't realize what he's doing until his fingers wrap around Jasper's wrist.

Jasper pauses, and sits back down. He fumbles for a minute, and the soft light of a lamp fills the tent. His hair looks like it was spun from gold, and his dark eyes are warm.

Edward tries to think of something to say, but cannot. He decides to sit up, holding Jasper's shoulder for support. The berserker's eyes never leave his face, waiting patiently as he gathers his thoughts.

"Do you– do you ever dream about the war?" Edward's words tumble out in a rasp.

Jasper lowers his gaze. "Yes. I dream about blood, and fire, and death." He takes a breath. "You'll get used to it."

Edward laughs humorlessly. "I thought I would have been used to it by now. It's been six months."

"Since you saw your first kill?"

"No, since I left the capital," Edward grins to himself, embarrassed by how little horrors he must have witnessed compared to Jasper, and how small his problems must seem to the other man. "I haven't seen a man die before you…ah…" He trails off and peers at the berserker, gauging his reaction.

Jasper has a grim smile on his lips. "You'll see much more of that. And you'll have many more nightmares."

"I wasn't exactly having a nightmare," Edward admits before he can stop himself.

Jasper follows his gaze, and sees the bulge in Edward's pants. He pauses for a moment, as if unsure how to react. Edward reddens and pulls his fallen covers over himself, wishing his linen undergarments weren't so thin.

In the light of the oil lamp, Jasper's cheeks flush pink.

Edward buries his face in his hands, still dazed from the sudden awakening, and too flustered to do anything other than hide. From the corner of his eye, he can see Jasper raising his hand, as if to pat him on the back, but only hovers for a moment before lowering it again.

Jasper stands abruptly and walks stiffly away. He returns with a goblet in hand. "Water," he says, bending into a small bow. He hesitates. "Your Grace," he adds.

"There's no need for formalities when we're alone." Edward says into the goblet. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and looks up. Jasper's nose is an inch from his. The berserker is handsome in this light, more than usual. His eyes are deep, dilated, and darker than Edward has ever seen it. His full lips are soft and inviting. His face is washed in gold by the lamplight, and his scars don't deter Edward's strange desire to run his tongue over that skin.

Jasper takes the goblet, but Edward doesn't let go.

He tips his head, and Jasper leans in closer. It feels like the most natural thing, Edward thinks, as his lips meet Jasper's.

Jasper's breath is sweet. Edward inhales him, erection stiffening swiftly under the sheets.

BOOM.

They spring apart. The goblet falls to the ground, clattering in the silent wake of the thunder. Jasper's eyes flicker up towards the ceiling, as if rebuking the storm. In a neighbouring tent, someone curses loudly, and a chorus of voices mumble their agreement.

Jasper picks up the cup in one smooth motion. "You should sleep," he says quietly. Before Edward could answer, he dims the lamp, and returns to his post.

Edward lies down reluctantly, and turns his back to the door. He reaches between his legs warily, but is too embarrassed to stroke. He closes his eyes and sees Jasper standing before him, naked but for the collar around his neck.

Edward wakes at the light of dawn with his hot seed on his belly, and his back sticking to the sweat-dampened sheets.

Later that morning they ride into view of the capitals walls. Jasper ogles at the miles of heavy stone encircling the city, sealing it off from the farms and paddies that stretch out from it across the horizon. The Volturi probably don't build cities like this, and why would they? King Carlisle doesn't send his armies across their borders every few months on a whim. They have no sense of threat.

Jasper is keeping pace with Edward, as he has always done.

Edward sneaks a sideways glance at him from the corner of his eyes.

Jasper's honey waves shine in the sunlight; curling strands brush his cheekbones and lift lightly in the breeze. His brows are furrowed, squinting in the morning light. His hands rest upon the saddle, holding the reins carelessly between his fingers, completely at ease. There is something about the way his hips move as his mount tots up the slanting paths that makes Edward's mind wander.

What does he even think of Edward?

Did he plan to pledge his fealty to Edward before Emmett demanded it? Did he do it because he had truly wanted to, or was it the only way he saw by which his life could be spared? The haunting honesty in his eyes when he knelt there should mean something. It didn't seem like a simple ploy for survival.

Though his actions until last night have been nothing more that dutiful, Edward could feel hints of something else that lurked below the surface. On first glance, it seems he has been playing the part of a soldier, and nothing more. But sometimes Jasper gets that look in his eyes and those dark orbs linger on Edward longer than they should. It's that same look Emmett gets when he sees a woman who catches his fancy. That probably means something too.

Plus, Jasper was the one who leaned in close. Edward can still see those heavy-lidded eyes, hear that quiet breathing, and taste those lips that tugged hungrily at his. But, Edward reminds himself, Jasper was also the one who walked away afterwards.

When they broke camp this morning, Jasper didn't bring up last night, and Edward didn't mention it either. He doesn't know what to say anyways, and he doesn't know how to make sense of it all. Emmett has once told him that some feelings can't be reasoned with, and at times there is no logic to be found. Edward scoffed at his brother then, but now ne knows what Emmett meant.

At noon, they passed through the capital's arching gates. The city guards kept the milling crowds at bay as the men marched up the wide stone streets. As far as the eye can see there are low brick houses with terracotta roofs stacked upon each other. Their colorful walls form a lively mosaic all the way up to High Street, from which the white domed roofs of libraries and schools take over the skyline. The roads lead upward to the city's centre, where the palace sits upon a hill.

The people cheer at the sight of Edward, and even louder for Emmett. Emmett waves back at them, dimples accentuating his wide smile. He never fails to endear the people to his cause. He could lead their sons off a cliff and they would still love him.

From the umpteenth time Edward wishes their father could see that Emmett would make a much better king and name him as heir instead.

The palace sits among lush green gardens, meticulously maintained by the groundskeepers. Jasper seems to appreciate their labour. He walks over to a hedge after dismounting, admiring the way it was been trimmed to resemble a swan. King Carlisle loves the leaves and grasses and all manners of green things. He even holds court in the gardens sometimes when the weather is fair and the skies are blue and cloudless.

Today, however, the King is sitting in his throne room. The courtiers stand around, draped in silks and furs, and perfumed from their foreheads to their heels. They murmur behind their fans as the princes enter, with a small party of their men. Most of the troops broke away at the barracks, eager to retire to their beds and their homes. Only Emmett's personal guards and retainers follow him into the palace. Jasper followed too, seeing as he has nowhere else to go. The courtiers bow as the princes pass, and straighten to eye the men in tow with haughty gazes and upturned noses.

The pitter-patter of little feet cuts through the murmur of low voices.

"They're back!" Alice's ecstatic squeal turns into a giggle when Edward sweeps her up into his arms.

"You've grown bigger," Edward says, smiling against her round cheeks and kissing her on the forehead.

"And prettier," Emmett adds, reaching over to tap the toddler on the nose. She grabs his finger and bites down.

"Ow!" Emmett says with a pretend grimace. "You've grown some more teeth too."

Alice laughs. Edward can see Jasper watching them over her head. He has a small uncertain smile tugging at his lips that pulls at Edward's heartstrings.

Queen Esme waves the crowding courtiers aside, and takes Alice into her arms. She looks every bit the same as she did six months ago when Edward left, minus the tears trailing down her face.

"Welcome home," she smiles, warm eyes hardly containing her relief at the sight of them, back safe and sound. She looks them up at down anxiously, and hugs them each in turn with her free arm while Alice tries to struggle out of her other one. "Come," she gestures to the throne, "your father is waiting."

There will be more time for her to fuss over them later when they are alone. Edward knows she probably has a table set up already in her suite, laden with all sorts of meats, pies, sweet loaves and steaming soups. It's her customary way of greeting Emmett upon his return from every campaign – to stuff him until he can't swallow another bite. It's a wonder that he hasn't grown bigger than he is. Edward looks towards the back of the room, where the guards stand next to the grand doors. He reminds himself to pile up a plate and have it brought to Jasper afterwards.

King Carlisle's solemn face doesn't hide his joy in seeing his sons returning home victorious. That twinkle in his eyes and the little telltale lines at their corners give him away. Edward bows and Emmett follows suit with some difficulty, hindered by his armour.

"You have the people's gratitude," the King announces. "Thank you for your bravery, Prince Emmett, in the face of our enemy, and thank you, Prince Edward, for your ingenuity in devising their defeat. The Volturi threat is quelled, and the trespasser Caius is captured!"

The courtiers applaud politely.

The King catches Edward's eyes. "Aro has sent word ahead of his emissary. We should be expecting a party from Volturia soon."

Edward nods in acknowledgement of the news. He has expected as much. It will be Felix, probably. He is Aro's favorite messenger despite being ill-suited for the job. He is a big man with a bigger ego.

"We should send them back with Caius's head," Emmett growls.

The King frowns slightly. "You will both join me in the war room shortly to discuss the proper course of action."

Edward bows. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

"This is diplomacy, Emmett," King Carlisle says quietly. "We will treat the emissary with utmost respect."

Emmett and Edward share a knowing glance. Their father probably hasn't forgotten that unmentionable incident the last time the Volturi emissary visited. To be fair, it was a very memorable visit for many reasons.

"I can promise to do that," Emmett says, "if Felix can promise to keep his idiot mouth shut."

King Carlisle lets out a small sigh. "These border skirmishes have become too frequent in recent years, and too costly for us. We will use this opportunity to seek a long term truce with Aro. For this reason, I have invited our Northern neighbours to act as mediators."

"The Denali Matriarchs are coming?" Edward asks, surprised. The Denali have long been content to mind their own business. They receive yearly tithes from the southern kingdoms to keep the roaming bands of Quileute raiders from tramping through the lands. The Denali have pointedly refused to intervene in any matters of contest between the southern nations in the past, and only marched their enormous armies south when their tithes ceased to come.

"The Czarinas Tanya and Irina will arrive in our city in two days time," King Carlisle says. "We anticipate their guidance in this matter." He stands and raises his arms in a grand gesture. His Royal Guardsmen snap to attention behind him, their trademark golden armors glimmering with reflected light.

"We welcome our princes home tonight with a feast in their honor. We shall celebrate our victory with wine and songs."

The courtiers' applause is significantly more enthusiastic at that. The noblemen have little taste for talks of war and matters of state, but are always ravenous at the prospect of a good party. This is why the generals run the kingdom while the lords grovel for favors.

"If I may, Your Majesty," Emmett says loudly over the din. "I have something to present to the court."

The room becomes quiet and a hundred eyes watch as Emmett points towards the guards at the doors. "This is Prince Edward's new guard."

The other men move back until Jasper is left standing alone, eyes wide and flickering back and forth in panic.

Edward takes a small step towards his brother. "Emmett," he hisses under his breath threateningly.

Emmett ignores him, of course. "He is known as the Chimera, a berserker previously under Caius's command."

Sharp gasps and stifled screams ripple through the gathered courtiers. Those near the back of the room hurry away to the side, casting horrified looks in Jasper's direction.

The berserker flushes red and lowers his head, trying to hide his face in the collar of his cloak without avail.

Edward seizes Emmet's still outstretched hand and forcibly lowers it. "Jasper has since sworn his fealty to me," he says tersely, glaring daggers at his brother.

The King, to everyone's astonishment, laughs. "I know. I have heard," he replies calmly.

Edward watches, open-mouthed as Jasper is beckoned forward. The courtiers scatter before him, squawking like hens. Emmett has a look like he's eaten a bad apple. He glowers at the berserker when he passes.

King Carlisle peers at Jasper with curious eyes. "Do you swear to guard my son with your life?"

Jasper nods slowly, glancing at Edward from the corner of his eye.

The King flicks two fingers in an inconspicuous wave. One of his Guardsmen dashes forward, unsheathing his sword as he goes, straight towards Edward.

Jasper is moving before Edward can even react. In a split second he stops the man in his tracks and has both hands wrapped around the Guardsman's neck.

The Guardsman drops his sword and sputters, clamping his fingers around Jasper's, clawing at him. His choking gurgle echoes through the silent throne room.

"Enough!" Emmett pries them apart and sends Jasper stumbling back two steps with a hard shove. "He has no control," Emmett snaps, rounding on Edward.

Edward finds himself at Jasper's side. He places a hand on Jasper's arm protectively. "Then you should train him," he suggests coldly. "Teach him what he needs to know and fit him with a sword."

" _That_ would be a good idea," King Carlisle agrees quickly, just as Emmett opens his mouth to argue. "Edward has the right to pick his own guards, and I trust his decision."

Edward gives Emmett a triumphant look, and bows to the King in gratitude. Jasper mirrors the action stiffly.

King Carlisle descends the steps of his throne. "The court is dismissed for today. Come, Edward, we have business to attend to."

Jasper is taken to the barracks. Emmett stomps off towards the war room, slighted, and spends the rest of the day with his arms resolutely crossed over his chest and a dark look on his face. Esme interrupts their meeting to demand that her boys be allowed to eat before they continue to debate strategies for diplomacy and points of negotiation.

By the time Edward finally makes it to his rooms the sky is already dark. None of them manage to make it to the feast thrown in their honour, but according to Riley, Edward's chamber boy, those in attendance had a swell time and no one even noticed the King and the princes were absent.

"I've drawn a bath, Your Grace," Riley says as he helps Edward out of his dusty riding clothes. "You should hurry before the water gets cold."

"Thank you," Edward says as a knock sounds at the door.

He heads towards the inner room where the steaming bath awaits as Riley answers the door.

"Has he summoned you?" comes Riley's annoyed voice. "Well, you can't come in if he hasn't asked for you. I don't care who you are, but His Grace is tired. You can seek an audience with him tomorrow, if he has time. And the last time I checked, he hasn't got a guard."

Edward pauses at that, and turns. He sticks his head out from behind the doorway of his bedroom to see Riley blocking the path of Jasper. He must have showered at the barracks. Someone has given him a fresh set of clothes and a small sword.

"It's fine, Riley," Edward says. "Go and fetch that plate I asked you to save from the feast."

"As you wish, Your Grace," Riley replies meekly and runs off, but not before giving Jasper a dirty look.

Edward appraises Jasper from where he stands; liking the way the man's eyes darken when they take in the sight of him, half-undressed.

"Have you eaten?" Edward asks.

Jasper nods mutely.

Edward gesticulates in the direction Riley has gone. "Well, in case you're still hungry…" Jasper doesn't answer. Edward clears his throat. "You know, it's not like camp. Here in the palace you don't have to guard me at night."

A heartbeat passes. Jasper turns to leave.

Edward almost kicks himself for his stupidity. "Wait," he says hurriedly. "Stay tonight." He racks his brain for an excuse. "It's too dark out, you might get lost on your way to the barracks."

Jasper gingerly steps through the door and closes it behind him. Edward goes back to his bath, and is happy to hear Jasper following him through the rooms.

Edward sheds his tunic and tosses it onto the ground. Riley will pick it up later. He unlaces the front of his trousers and hesitates before pushing them down his hips. Jasper watches him from the door, going pink in the face. Edward feels self conscious for the first time. Riley has watched him strip for years, and Edward has never batted an eye. But with the berserker watching, it feels different somehow.

Edward shakes off the feeling and drops his pants. He keeps his back to Jasper as he climbs over the side of the tub. The scented water rises as he sits and spills over the smooth wooden rims. He sits back and leans his head against the panelling, feeling less relaxed than he usually does.

Riley bustles through the door. "Your dinner is ready, Your Grace. Would you like to eat it in the bath?"

"It's for Jasper," Edward says over his shoulder.

"Oh." The pique in Riley's voice makes Edward smile. He looks back. Jasper hasn't moved.

Riley picks up a sponge and lathers it with soap. He runs it up and down Edward's arms, leaving white, sweet-smelling suds in its wake. He scrubs the other arm, the moves to the back, and then the front. Riley has Edward stand while he runs it down his legs. Edward can feel Jasper's gaze on his back, burning into his skin. He tries not to think about the berserker, feeling a familiar feeling curling in the pits of his abdomen, making his manhood stiffen.

Riley runs the soap through Edward's hair and rinses him off with a bucket of water. Edward climbs out of the tub and runs his hands through his hair. A thick towel is draped across his shoulder and he pulls it across his chest. "Thank you, Riley," he says, but turns to find that it is Jasper standing behind him.

Riley is leaning against the door frame, looking upset.

Jasper pats Edward down expertly, only hesitating over the bulge between his legs. Edward breathes through his nose as Jasper's strong hands slide up his back. When Jasper walks away to retrieve his sleeping clothes, Edward let out a breath, feeling jitters dance up his spine.

He doesn't know what he's feeling, but he takes comfort in the fact that Jasper is obviously feeling it too. When the berserker returns holding his pants, there is a look on his face that reminds Edward of the night before and his black of his pupils are as big as marbles.

xxx

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Yes, smut is coming...soon.

Thanks for all the reviews, you guys are great. I hope you guys enjoyed this one. Next chapter is called _A Proposal._


	4. A Proposal

**The Chimera**

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I was trying to fit this story into seven chapters but it's just not possible. If I kept this chapter as I planned it originally, it would have ended up with ten thousand words and you guys would have to wait another week. But that wouldn't have been fair. So, here is the first half of chapter four. Enjoy!

Note: Smut up ahead (no pun intended).

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 **Four: A Proposal**

Edward dreams of brilliant scarlet and dark dusty crimson. He floats through clouds of honey and the sun is a golden orb above his head. The light it casts turns into strings of silk when they hit him. The thin, soft threads twirl in his outstretched hands and weaves into a crown. He places it atop Emmett's dark curls, watching his dimples deepen as he grins. But then Emmett's eyes turn black, and his face slims into Jasper's. He's wearing a red robe falling off his shoulders, and his inky bloodlust eyes shine as he lunges, fangs glistening, and jaw unhinged. His long claws reach for Edward's neck.

The Princeling wakes gasping. He half rises from his bed but is gently pushed down again. The red in Edward's eyes dissipate and there is nothing but black for a second. Jasper's face looms out from the darkness, brown eyes narrowed under furrowed brows, his nose inches from Edward's.

"You were groaning in your sleep again." His voice is barely a whisper.

"Shouldn't have woken him." Riley's voice comes from the side, sounding upset. "You should never wake someone from a nightmare, or else it'll come true."

Jasper straightens and looks back in the direction of the chamberboy with an annoyed tick in his jaw.

He had been at his post by the door when Edward slept, with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, and his lips pressed into a line. Edward has never felt unsafe in his own bed, but he has also never felt safer than tonight.

Riley comes into sight with a lamp in hand, fussing with the pillows and sheets, throwing curious glances in the direction of the berserker.

"Riley." Edward eases himself onto his elbows. "Fetch me some water."

"As you wish, Your Grace."

Edwards sits up slowly, raising one hand to his chest, feeling his heart hammering violently inside his rib cage. Jasper regards him with watchful eyes and a guarded expression. When Edward's other hand brushes his, he glances down but doesn't flinch away. He allows Edward to thread their fingers together.

"Water, Your Grace." Riley returns with a goblet in one hand and a small glass jar in the other. "Sandalwood oil will help you sleep, Your Grace."

Edward leans back against his pillows tiredly. Riley hovers. "Should I call the old doctor Billy to unknot your nerves, Your Grace?"

Edward shakes his head weakly. "Go back to sleep, Riley. Come find me in the morning."

Riley bows and dims the lamp, setting it on the bedside table next to the sandalwood oil. He casts one last look at Jasper before closing the door behind him.

Edward closes his eyes, feeling sleep's lull again. He doesn't untangle his fingers from Jasper's. He is not quite ready to be alone. The berserker takes a deep breath and brushes his thumb against the side of Edward's hand. "I can do that if you want."

"Do what?" Edward opens his eyes to find Jasper staring. There is heat in his gaze under that careful composure.

"Unknot," Jasper answers simply. He picks up Edward's limp wrist with both hands and works his thumbs up the forearm. His fingers are strong but controlled, knowing exactly how much pressure to apply and lingers where it's sore. He kneads up Edward's arm, slowing at the joint of the shoulder to dig into the tense muscles there. Edward hisses, half from pleasure, half from pain. Jasper reaches over to the nightstand and dips two fingers in the glass jar. He brushes the oil lightly up the side of Edward's neck to his jaw.

Edward sighs, letting himself relax, and closes his eyes again. He feels Jasper shift down the bed before warm, oil slicked thumbs trace the outline of his sole and massage from his heel to his toes. Something hot ignites and curls in his abdomen. The pleasure bubbles like a pot left too long on the stove, and threatens to spill.

Deft hands move up to the ankles and around the back to the calves. They coax two soft moans from Edward's half closed lips. He flushes at the sounds of his own voice. It could be either the sensual thoughts inspired by that or the strong hands that are now sliding above his knees which makes his abdomen tighten and a sweet throbbing creep up the inside of his legs.

Jasper is kneeling on the bed now, bending to nudge at the straining tendons on Edward's thighs, willing them to release and loosen. His honey blonde hair is tucked behind his ears, he is chewing his lip in concentration, and Edward watches as his broad shoulders hunched, supple muscles sliding under the thin tunic. This is perhaps the most captivating sight Edward has ever seen in his eighteen years. This beautiful creature is in his bed, and, to his chagrin, he doesn't know what to do about it. The pull of fatigue dissipates as Edward feels familiar tingles shoot down his spine. He is breathing hard, seeing stars, and there is an aching hardness straining against the strings of his trousers.

Jasper's hands slip under the hem of the short linen pants and his thumbs dig into the sensitive skin on the very inside of Edward's thighs.

Edward arches up.

His breath is coming in ragged gasps as he tries to form a coherent thought. Jasper is his guard, sworn to serve him in the battlefield – and perhaps off it as well? No. That was what Caius had done, and it wasn't right. But did Jasper do this with Caius? He must have or else how would his movements be so practiced and brimming with intention? Difference is Edward hasn't cast any lust magic upon the berserker. He grits his teeth and brings himself to meet Jasper's eyes.

The berserker pauses, hands hesitant. Edward thinks of how he offered his help, and how he slid his long fingers into the mouth of the oil jar and ghosted over Edward's skin in that intimate gesture. If Jacob doesn't want it, he'll surely show it. He'll go rigid like he did with Caius. He'll hang his head and refuse to make eye contact.

Jasper is doing the very opposite right now. He has positioned himself between Edward's legs and he is waiting nervously. The set of his shoulders is almost impatient.

Edward warily brings one palm up against Jasper's face, liking the way those silky tresses feel between his fingers. Jasper's eyes are the color of midnight in the dimness of the room, but the fire in them lights up the orbs like embers, sending a delicious burn down Edward's body with their every flicker.

"Jasper."

The flame that erupts in those dark eyes at his voice is all the answer Edward needs. He tips his head and presses their lips together with a moan.

Jasper sucks at him, hot breath scalding his skin, and wet tongue lapping at him, urging his lips open. Jasper's hands are everyone all at once. He makes quick work of the lacing of Edward's pants. His oiled fingers waste no time in enveloping Edward's hardness. He brushes his thumb over the head and renders Edward into a shuddering, whining mess. His lips trail heated kisses down Edward's jaw and down the side of his neck.

Jasper settles between his legs, pulling his knees open and tugs the pants down to his ankles. Those strong fingers stroke him rhythmically, and he bucks into those calloused hands, wrapping his legs around the slim waist. Jasper pushes Edward's tunic up to his neck and kisses down the centre of his chest. One hand finds the hard nub of Edward's nipple and circles over it, making Edward clutch at his bedding, twisting his neck to muffle his groan in his pillow. Jasper's other hand remains clasped around Edward's manhood, making him like he'd melt if those fingers let go.

Edward writhes, mouth open, eyes squeezed tight, and trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. He thinks he can't take anymore; he thinks he is about to burst into a million quivering pieces. Then Jasper's soft lips latch onto the head of his cock.

Edward never imagined he can make the kind of sound he hears, rumbling out from the deepest part of him. It's a wanton, whorish cry. It's like what he has heard hundreds of times over in the brothels Emmett frequents, only more lewd. He sticks his fist in his mouth, trying to stifle the moans. But Jasper's thumb is circling his nipple, sending waves of pleasure to the pit of his abdomen, the berserker's tongue is sliding teasingly up the underside of his shaft, and there is an oil-slicked digit that is pressing against a spot between his buttocks that makes his legs turn into jelly.

Then Jasper swallows him whole, glistening lips stretching over the base of Edward's member, and the finger slides up between the buttocks and sinks into his opening. It hurts for a second before Jasper stroking something that makes Edward arch of the bed, thrashing. He spills his seed into Jasper's throat, and the berserker gulps down every last drop.

Edward lies shaking with the aftershocks as Jasper reaches over to push his hair back from his face. It is such a casual motion, so quick but so tender, it makes Edward's chest ache.

He has never imagined he could be this close to a person, or feel this possessive. He wants nothing more than to taste every one of those jagged scars and run his tongue over the very same places Jasper had kissed on him. He wants Jasper to experience the same deliriousness and ride atop the same waves of pleasure.

He wraps his fingers around Jasper's arm and pulls him down, finding his lips again.

Jasper leans away, stiffening. "No," he croaks, "I swallowed–"

Edward silences him with a kiss. He can taste the bitterness of his own seed when he runs his tongue over Jasper's teeth, but he doesn't mind.

Jasper grunts against him, and he feels the berserker's bulge against his thigh. He dares to slip a shaking hand into the waistband of Jasper's breeches and runs his fingertip along the smooth skin of the hardness there, feeling it twitch at his touch. He drags his canines along the sensitive parts of Jasper's lower lip. When they finally break apart for breath, Edward can feel his own lips are swollen. "Jasper?" His voice comes out like a gush of air.

"Hmm." Jasper's entire frame trembles when Edward grips his shaft and strokes it slowly.

"Jasper." Edward strokes him the only way he knows – like how he strokes himself. He finds himself captivated by the moist, supple head, and the smooth skin that stretches under his fingers as the member hardens.

Edward slides down Jasper's long body, kissing all the way. Jasper seizes his wrists and pulls him up. "No," he says roughly. "That is a whore's trick, not befitting of a prince."

Edward reaches down and strokes him hard and fast, and hears him choke on his own breath. "You did it."

"Y-yes."

"I want to do it."

"No." Jasper sounds pained. He presses a lingering kiss to the corner of Edward's mouth. The prince turns his head slightly and takes Jasper's tongue into his mouth.

Jasper's hands move up and down his back, thumbs rubbing in rhythmic circles, and strong fingertips digging into his muscles. The arms encircling him tighten as he strokes faster. His other arm goes around Jasper's neck and his fingers tangle in the honey hair.

Jasper moans into Edward's mouth as he shakes in orgasm. Edward holds him until he stops trembling. He lets out an unsteady breath against Edward's forehead. Edward tucks his head in the crook of Jasper's neck, breathing him in. He isn't sure what he'll find in Jasper's eyes right now, and isn't ready to look. He hopes to find his own wonder and amazement mirrored in those brown orbs, but he fears he may see duty-bound determination or that vacant empty gaze makes Jasper look as if his mind is far from here.

He drifts into dreamless sleep with the kneading fingers in his back dancing over tense muscles. He resolves to look Jasper in the eyes tomorrow morning. He'll know what it all means then.

xxx

The Volturi emissaries arrived at dawn. They sauntered into the palace in their riding clothes still dusty from the road and boots wet from the morning dew in the grass. They demanded an audience with the King before they even alighted from their horses, stating they have urgent matters to attend to. The Volturi diplomat Felix strutted into the throne room with a woman in tow. She is apparently the most beautiful woman Riley has ever seen. He told Edward this when he shook the Princeling awake. The image of her in his head is enough to make him miss a button on Edward's blouse.

The Princeling waves away his stammered apologies. "Hush. Don't wake Jasper."

The berserker is sleeping with his arms thrown over his face and his long legs tangled in the sheets.

"I don't think he'll wake easily today, Your Grace," Riley says dryly. "Last night was perhaps too strenuous for him."

Edward feels heat rising in his cheeks. He glances at his chamberboy from the corner of his eye. "My brother has better _not_ hear about this."

"As you wish, Your Grace." Riley turns to snatch Edward's silk-lined court cloak off a nearby chair. "Although, if Prince Emmett knew, there would be no more cajoling and teasing about Edward the Pure."

"Riley." Edward glares at him in annoyance. "Just bite your tongue for once, by gods."

"As you wish, Your Grace."

When Edward arrives at the throne room, King Carlisle has already shut himself inside with the Volturi party. The gold armoured guards at the doors tell him the King asked not to be disturbed, not even by his sons.

Edward feels a sense of foreboding settling on his shoulders at the sight of those grand doors shut tight. He glances down the corridor. "Where is my brother?" He asks the guards.

"We haven't been able to find him this morning."

Edward snorts. "Did you check the gardens?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the guard replies quickly, "we have men looking there now."

Edward nods and decides to wait back in his rooms. He tries to tell himself that the decision has nothing to do with the picture of Jasper's reclined figure atop his sheets in his mind's eye. However, whatever plans he has for a languid morning in bed is quickly dashed. Just as he begins to turn away, the double doors ease open, and the guards snap into attention, halting his steps.

Felix is indeed accompanied by a beautiful woman. She has the distinct Volturi features of fair hair and pale skin. Her golden tresses fall in soft ripples to the small of her back. Her eyes are so deeply blue that they look almost violet. She glides through the doors with the elegance and bearing of that marks her as one of noble upraising. She would have been lovelier if she smiled, but her pink lips are pursed and her eyes turn hard when they catch sight of Edward.

She starts towards him. The anger in her gait takes Edward by surprise. She raises one dainty finger and jabs it in his direction. "That monster shouldn't be permitted in the presence of polite company, much less in court," she says in a harsh tone.

Edward raises one eyebrow, too taken aback to be offended. It takes him a minute to see that she is looking past him, glaring daggers at something behind.

He turns to find Jasper with one foot raised in mid-step, frozen like a deer caught in lantern lights. He has a frightened look etched onto his face that Edward doesn't like to see.

Edward turns back to face the Volturi woman. "I see no polite company here."

Those flashing violet eyes snap to him and narrow in contempt. "He's the deserting berserker."

"He didn't desert." Edward pulls at the trim on his cloak in annoyance, rolling his eyes. "He was captured.

"He's a traitor," she hisses, "and a beast. He is hideous and repulsive." She turns to Felix. "Remove the brute from my sight."

Edward crosses his arms. "You have no authority here," he says coldly. "Besides, you are surely mistaken. Jasper looks like he could be your brother."

The look that crosses the Volturi woman's face at that gives Edward an immense sense of satisfaction.

At this moment, King Carlisle appears at Felix's side, flanked by two aged generals who often advised him alongside Edward. He takes in the scene with one quick sweep of his piercing blue eyes.

He motions his son forward with a flick of his hand. "Come. You know Felix, of course, and this is Lady Rosalie, a duchess of Volturia and His Excellency Aro's beloved niece." He turns to her. "This is my son, Edward."

The duchess clamps her jaw shut and wipes the animosity from her features, but her gaze is no less icy. Felix catches her elbow in a vice grip and she grimaces slightly. "Lady Rosalie is fatigued from the long journey. Please do not take offense, Your Grace."

King Carlisle smiles humorlessly down at the diplomat. "Of course not."

Edward, however, is feeling less forgiving. "Perhaps she should retire to her room for the rest of the day," he suggests.

Felix dips into a small bow and proceeds to steer the duchess backwards down the corridor. "Yes, I will ensure that she does, Your Grace."

Edward stands there with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face until the Volturi disappear around a corner. He lets out a huff of breath, irked by the entire exchange. He is at least glad to see that Jasper has recovered from the sight of the duchess. The berserker sidles up to Edward and gives him an unreadable look.

The King stares in the direction the emissaries disappeared for a moment, brows furrowed in thought, before turning to his son. He claps Edward on the shoulder and pulls him along as he strolls back into the throne room. The guards follow at the King's heel, and Jasper falls in step behind Edward.

"Do you know how the strongest bonds are formed between kings, Edward?"

"Through marriage, of course," Edward replies automatically. Ah, that must be why Aro sent his ill-tempered niece across the borders. Edward shakes his head. "Hmph. She is captivating to the eyes," he admits, "but I doubt it will be enough to turn Emmett from his womanizing. Plus," he adds wryly off the amused look the King gives him, "Emmett has had a bad bout of romance with a Volturi girl once. I don't think he'd be easily persuaded to try again."

King Carlisle meets Edward's gaze steadily. "There is no need to persuade Emmett into anything. My heir will wed her."

Edward stops in his tracks so suddenly that Jasper almost walks into him. "You haven't decided on an heir," he reminds his father, feeling his blood turning cold in his veins.

"I have." The King replies simply, his hand slipping from Edward's shoulder.

Edward's mouth is inexplicably dry. "Emmett would be a better match."

"You were saying the opposite mere moments ago," the King reminds him quietly. "My heir will wed her. _You_ will wed her."

Edward takes a small step back, shaking his head furiously. "I will not."

He has never seen the King lose his calm, not when the Queen was forty hours into labour and Alice still wouldn't budge, not when Emmett came home crying from a hunting trip afraid that he had sired a child with a barmaid, not even when the Caius broke through the borderlands the first time years ago and marched halfway to the capital. Yet, at this moment, as King Carlisle's blue eyes bore into Edward, the prince can feel the fraying shreds of his composure snap. "You have a duty to your people, Edward. You will do as you are told."

Edward's heart is pounding in his throat and at his ears all at once. "I will not. I do not like her."

The King sighs. "That was an unfortunate first meeting, I'll concede to that. But you will see differently after the feast in the morrow."

"I will not." The bull-headed edge in his own voice makes Edward feels like he is a child again, running from his mother's rooms, whipping through the palace halls in a burst of rebellious fury.

King Carlisle puts a reassuring hand on his arm. "Speak to her tomorrow night, Edward, and find that she will make you a good queen."

Edward shakes his hand off angrily. The King gives him a quelling look before turning away. Edward glares at his back, fuming. His head is already buzzing with all the arguments he can make and all the excuses he could say, but the King is clearly in no mood for a debate today. When Edward turns he finds his own dark expression mirrored in Jasper's face as those brown eyes narrow in the direction of the King's retreating back.

Emmett chooses this moment to reappear. Edward would recognize the sound of his heavy footfalls anywhere. He bursts into the throne room, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, and dew-damp boots squeaking on the marble floors. Edward frowns. "Where have you been?" It's a question he doesn't need to ask. He could take a pretty good guess.

Emmett has a big smile stretching from ear to ear. "I saw the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on in the gardens this morning."

Edward shakes his head. "Of course you did."

His sardonic tone is lost on Emmett. "She shone brighter than the sun," he says in a dreamy voice.

Edward presses two fingers to his temple, feeling a headache coming on. His brother's glee is only aggravating his misery. "Emmett."

His brother finally registers the look on his face. "What happened?"

Edward doesn't want to tell him. Somehow saying it aloud makes it feel real, like it will seal his fate. He fears the image of himself at the altar, with Rosalie's hand in his, bound my magic in marriage eternal. Emmett will find out from someone else anyway. "You missed the Volturi emissaries," he says instead.

Emmett shrugs. "It's just dumb old Felix. I'm not regretful."

"It wasn't just Felix," Edward replies lightly as he starts towards the door. "I think you might regret it."

He leaves Emmett in the throne room and heads towards the royal archive library. He surmises that King Carlisle wants to use the marriage as the groundwork for a new treaty. Perhaps, with a Volturi queen on the throne, Caius would be less inclined to march his men over the border. Edward would be more inclined to think this is a great idea if he isn't the groom. He is disinterested in the convention of marriage, apathetic towards the creation of heirs, and wholly adverse to the notion of spending eternity with Rosalie of Volturia.

Edward wishes he stayed in bed with Jasper this morning. He wishes they were out in the borderlands still, alone in his tent under the midnight sky and listening to the pitter-patter of rain on the oiled canvas. He takes comfort in the sound of Jasper's light footsteps close behind him as he enters the library. He'll find a way out of the marriage. He always finds a way.

Jasper looks up at the towering shelves filled with rolls upon rolls of scrolls. There is a pink blush on his cheeks and a slight swelling of his lips that Edward likes to imagine is from the night before. His clever brown eyes take in the lay of the room with interest, but when they return to rest on Edward's face, those eyes become troubled.

The specks in that chestnut brown are gold like the leaves in autumn. Suddenly, he remembers how those eyes look in the dark, like forest caught on fire.

Edward forgets what he wanted to say. He gesticulates vaguely, scrambling for something – anything. "Can you– do you– do you read?"

Jasper's expression is closed. "Yes."

Edward takes a seat at the wooden reading table. "There is a record of Volturi treaties, would you find it for me?"

Jasper doesn't move.

Edward looks over to the shelves then back at the berserker. "Jasper?"

"I thought they came for me, but they came for you instead." Jasper's voice is thick. Edward hears the tremble in it and feels his heart skip a beat. Jasper's eyes flash darkly. "I don't trust her."

Edward looks down at the wood grains on the table. "It doesn't matter," he says flippantly, trying to put on an air of bravado. He doesn't want Jasper to fear anything. Caius is locked in the dungeons, the campaign is over, and no Volturi duchess is allowed to make the berserker feel inhuman.

"I've heard of her," Jasper says urgently. "Aro does not value her. Beloved niece?" Jasper snorts. "Aro loves no one but himself. There is a trick in her being here. This marriage will be a farce."

Edward's shoulders sink, feeling more tired than he has ever felt in six months of camping in the trees and chasing Caius through the valleys. "Defying the King's direct order is treason," he says simply.

Jasper looks frustrated. "Shouldn't the eldest son be heir?"

Edward gives him a dreary smile. "My father has never been one to follow conventions."

Jasper stares at him. "So you'll marry her?"

"If he names me heir I will have no choice." Edward cannot bear to hold Jasper's gaze anymore. He looks away. "Your people are a fearsome enemy that I would like to see become a formidable ally instead."

"Aro wants your land." Jasper's voice is harsh. "He'll take off the King's head to get it if he has to…and yours too."

Edward head snaps up sharply. "You know this?"

"I heard them," Jasper's tone is bitter. "I head when they thought I was asleep."

Edward's heart shatters right about then. He finds himself reaching out for Jasper's hand before his mind gives the command. He holds Jasper's calloused fingers and runs his thumb over the trailing end of a scar on the back of his wrist. Jasper leans down, Edward closes his eyes, and they meet in the middle.

The kiss is soft and tender. Edward almost forgets to breathe.

"Jasper," he sighs, lips brushing against the berserker's, "I must do my duty."

Jasper pulls away and all semblance of emotion is wiped from his face. "For the good of the kingdom." His voice is hollow.

"No," Edward whispers, "not like how Caius says it. He thinks of himself as the kingdom and he cares only for his own good." He holds Jasper's gaze in his and wills him to understand, hand pressed against his heart, and his emerald eyes pleading. "I am not doing this for me."

"You shouldn't be doing it at all." Jasper looks away. His teeth are clenched tightly, grinding out his words in terse, rough syllables, and his brows are furrowed in what looks like pain.

Edward stares at him. "I don't understand."

"Forgive me, Your Grace," comes the curt reply. Jasper's eyelashes sweep downward as he looks down at the floor. "I forget my place." He turns to leave.

Edward rises from his chair. "Sit with me," he implores, cringing inwardly at the way that sounds.

"I must report to the barracks." Jasper takes his leave without waiting for the reply. He walks away back stiff, shoulders high, and white-knuckled fists pressing unnaturally to his sides.

Edward gets a familiar sinking feeling in his stomach. It reminds him of when Emmett gets upset at him. He knows the course his brother takes, first anger, then harsh words, followed by silence. His response is silence in kind, patiently waiting for the glowers to fade, and the furious stomping to cease. In a week's time Emmett usually settles, having taken out his frustration out of a sparring dummy or a painted target, and Edward can try to reason with him again.

But Jasper didn't shout, he didn't turn red in the face, or punch holes into walls. He didn't give any obvious indication that he is upset at all. Perhaps he isn't. Perhaps Edward is just being overly sensitive, due to the night before. Maybe this is the awkwardness in the morning-after that should be expected.

Edward gives himself a small shake and proceeds to pull long rolled lengths of dusty scrolls from atop the shelves. He tells himself nothing is wrong, he tells himself that Jasper will find him when he is finished at the barracks.

Where night falls there is no trace of Jasper. Edward goes to bed watching the wall, waiting for the flicker of a familiar shadow. It doesn't come.

When his eyelids grow heavy and there is still no sign of Jasper, Edward begins to think perhaps he has made a mistake.

He wakes again in the night, sweating and breathing hard, with lingering visions of bloodied bodies seared into the inside of his eyelids. He grabs at the darkness, thinking he'd find cool skin, soft hair, or calloused fingers. Instead, he finds a bedraggled Riley, staring at him with bleary eyes. He sends the chamberboy away and lies staring up at the ceiling until the sky lightens.

Edward dresses quietly without calling Riley. He sneaks out a servants' side door in the dim light of the dawning sun, and disappears into the morning mist. He wanders through the gardens and crosses High Street, ducking into the hood of his cloak and slouching uncharacteristically. He soon finds himself upon the dirt grounds of the barracks.

To his surprise, two of Emmett's retainers greet him at the gate.

"My brother is here?" he asks them.

"His Grace is in the midst of sparring practice," they reply.

Edward follows their direction into the large yard in the middle of the compound. There are colorful archery targets along the wall and various effigies of straw-men donned in the black and red of the Volturi.

The yard is empty except for the far corner where the hulking figure of Emmett is railing against Jasper, who dodges every strike and blow with lightning quick steps and dancer-like twists. Jasper is holding a long spear in one hand and with the way he moves it looks as if it is an extension of his arm. He spins out of the way of Emmett's wooden broadsword, crouching on his knees, then darts forward like a snake in the grass. Edward knows these sparring props are blunted, but he still winces when the point of Jasper's spear connects with Emmett's chest, right over his heart.

Edward's hands come together automatically, his applause rings through the yard.

Jasper looks over and drops his spear. Edward feels his own smile freezing at the sight of Jasper standing stiffly, face closed off and expressionless. Edward lowers his hands to his side. The butterflies that began to flutter in his abdomen at the first sight of Jasper suddenly turn into wasps.

Emmett stalks over, swinging his sparring sword up to rest across his shoulder. "He's weak, he's slow. His defence needs work," he says gruffly.

Edward gives Jasper a small forced grin and turns to glare at his brother. "He seems perfectly capable of defending against you."

Emmett glowers. "That's not good enough."

Edward shakes his head. "There's a feast tonight with the Volturi emissaries. Don't be late," he says, raising his voice. He can see Jasper in his periphery, stowing his sparring equipment away.

"Have you met her?"

There's something in the tone of Emmett's voice that draws Edward's attention from Jasper. He scans his brother's face. Sometimes, even when Emmett isn't smiling the shadows of his dimples still give him that cheery, playful look that is so distinctive to him. Today, even those shadows are nowhere to be found.

"Who?" Edward asks.

Emmett's voice drops when he replies. "The duchess."

"Yes." Edward doesn't see where this is going, and the solemn look in Emmett's dark eyes is scaring him.

"And?"

Edward makes a face and waves his hands dismissively. "She seems a touch high-strung, and hot headed too. She snapped at Jasper when he gave her no offence."

Emmett lowers his sword into the dirt ground and rests his folded hands on the hilt. "And?"

"And…" Edward thinks for a moment. "She is harsh in her look and frigid in her demeanour. I can't place if she's resents us or if she's just miserable."

"She's beautiful," Emmett bursts out. "She is like a goddess who has come into flesh. No painter can capture her likeness. She has eyes like violets, and the grace of a queen."

It's Edward's turn to stare back at him blankly. "And?"

Emmett's brows knit together as a fierce scowl twist his handsome features. "And all you can talk about is how unhappy she seems?" he snarls. "You can't appreciate her. You have no sympathy. She's been carted off to a foreign land to be married off to a _child_ upon the orders of her uncle. Of course she's miserable."

Edward snorts, taking offense at the accusation in Emmett's tone. "You've had a very quick change of heart."

"What?" Emmett demands impatiently.

"What happened to the girl from yesterday who outshone the sun?" Edward sneers coldly.

Emmett narrows his eyes, giving Edward a very black look with the corner of his lips turning decidedly downwards. "That was her," he replies tersely.

Edward stares at him.

After a beat, Emmett drops his gaze and turns, stomping off. Edward watches his retreating figure with interest. This is an unexpected turn of events. Perhaps he can use this to his advantage. But, he reminds himself, this isn't war. Emmett is his stubborn brother who will be much harder to manipulate than the wooden shoulders on his leather maps.

He'll deal with that later, he more pressing matters at the moment.

But when he turns back to where Jasper was a minute ago, the berserker is no longer there. Edward wanders through the barracks for the rest of the morning. Jasper is nowhere to be found.

Maybe it didn't mean anything to him.

Edward hunkers down in the shadows of the barrack's bunk house and watch as the men begin to go about their first duty of the day. He doesn't see them really. His gaze focuses in the space between when he is and where they hurry about, strapping on armours and running small knives over their bristly chins.

Maybe for Jasper, putting his lips on intimate places is part of his service to his liege lord, like massaging away knots, or standing guard while Edward slept.

Edward remembers how Jasper groaned against his ear when the prince sucks on the dip between his shoulder and his neck. It was so quiet that if it wasn't for the breath brushing along Edward's skin and raising goosebumps in its wake he wouldn't have heard it. He remembers those soft kisses and nipping teeth against sensitive skin. Maybe those moments weren't special. Maybe they didn't make Jasper's heart beat against his chest, threatening to break out of his skin, maybe they didn't make him lose his breath and go weak at the knees – even though it made Edward feel all of those things.

Edward pulls his hood up over his head as he heads out, back up High Street.

Maybe he is mistaken in more ways than one.

xxx

* * *

Next chapter will be called _Trophy_.


End file.
